


Merlin One-Shot Collection

by sneetchstar



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-06-09
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:42:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 55,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9597215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sneetchstar/pseuds/sneetchstar
Summary: I consolidated many of my Merlin one-shots into this collection.  Ratings vary by chapter.





	1. Frost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An enchanted Guinevere is left to freeze to death in the forest. Action takes place any time between 4x03 and 4x09. Rated T.

It is just before dawn in Camelot. A dark figure is coursing stealthily through the streets, keeping to the shadows, avoiding any guards on patrol. The figure stops outside the door of a house and slips silently inside.

The cloaked figure approaches the bed and produces a trumpet-shaped flower of red and gold and holds it aloft. Morgana gazes at the flower. A whispered incantation, a flash of her eyes, and she tips the flower, pouring a fine gold dust that settles on Guinevere’s sleeping eyelids. It shimmers for just a moment before it disappears. Morgana heads for the door. She pauses for a moment and looks back at Gwen’s sleeping form. For a fleeting second she feels a pang of guilt, remembering how good Gwen always was to her. She shakes her head. _Fool,_ she chastises herself, and slips from the house.

 

xXx

 

It is full morning now, and Guinevere is walking to the castle. It is late fall and there is a chill in the air. She shivers a little, wrapping her shawl tighter around her. _It’ll be warmer once the sun clears the treeline,_ she thinks, looking up at the clear sky.

As she approaches the marketplace, a few vendors are starting to open up shop for the day. She stops and selects a few items of fresh produce to bring to the castle for the day, taking care to choose things she knows to be favored by Arthur.

“Good morning, Merlin,” she greets her friend as she enters the castle. Merlin is carrying a tray covered with a linen napkin and appears to be in a hurry.

“Hi, Gwen,” he replies. He starts down the corridor, but she lays a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Is that Arthur’s breakfast?” she asks.

“Yes, and I’m late getting it to him. He’s going to start yelling any minute now.”

“You can spare me one moment,” Gwen says. She reaches into her basket and brings out a large apple. Yellow, Arthur’s favorite kind. She pulls back the edge of the napkin and places it on the tray. Before Merlin can escape, she reaches back in the basket. This time she produces a purple flower, which she places on the tray, re-setting the apple atop it. She replaces the napkin, and looks at Merlin, saying, “There.”

Merlin smiles, understanding the flower’s meaning. Gwen gives him a friendly squeeze on the elbow and sends him on his way. He scurries down the hall towards Arthur’s bedchamber and Gwen continues to the kitchen to deliver her purchases.

As Merlin walks quickly down the hall, Arthur starts yelling. Merlin is not concerned now, however, as he knows that his master’s mood will change once he sees the gift Gwen has left him. He knocks on the door.

“That had better be my breakfast,” Arthur calls from inside. Merlin enters to find a scowling Arthur seated at the table. He grins at the young king’s scowl.

“Why are you so chipper?” Arthur snaps.

“Oh, no reason. I just have an extra special breakfast for you today.”

“Well, let me have it, then. I’m starving.”

Merlin sets the tray down in front of him. Arthur pulls the napkin off and places it in his lap. He inspects the tray.

“Sausages, bread, some cheese, an apple, I don’t see what’s so special about…” he tilts his head and sees something purple. He lifts the apple and sees the flower beneath. His brow unfurrows and a small smile plays across his lips. _Guinevere,_ he thinks, and his heart beats just a little faster.

“Thank you, Merlin, that will be all for now,” he says, taking a bite of the apple.

 

xXx

 

The day is uneventful for a change. Gwen doesn’t have much to do with her time now that Uther has died. Arthur has made it clear that he does not wish her to do any strenuous work any more, so she busies her day as best she can. Tidying things here, bringing a pitcher of water there. None of the other servants seem to harbor any ill will toward her changed workload. She has been there so long and has always been kind and helpful to everyone so they cannot fault her. In their minds, since the king is not displeased with her, why should they be?

She finds Merlin again shortly before lunch. He looks tired. Arthur and the knights have been training, and since the day is quiet, they are bored, so they run Merlin ragged as they look for ways to amuse themselves.

“Merlin, why don’t you sit and rest a bit. I’ll bring Arthur his lunch,” Guinevere offers.

“Are you sure? You know he doesn’t like you serving,” Merlin says, but she can see the thanks in his eyes.

“Let me worry about that. Let’s go down to the kitchen and get you something to eat and rest a bit. I’ll take care of Arthur.”

Merlin agrees, and they walk to the kitchen together, chatting companionably. They don’t see each other as often as they used to, and they miss one another.

Gwen leaves Merlin in the kitchen and takes Arthur’s tray to the hall where he is waiting. At first he is displeased with Merlin for letting Gwen talk him into taking over for him, but he quickly realizes that he benefits from the change in personnel as well. He’d much rather spend his lunch in Guinevere’s company than Merlin’s. He is tempted to ask her to sit with him, but he hesitates, knowing she will refuse. As he is in the great hall, anyone could walk in at any moment, and Gwen is still very cautious. _Soon enough,_ he thinks, remembering the promise he made to her. He decides instead to find every excuse possible to have her come close, even “accidentally” spilling his drink. Twice.

 

xXx

 

The afternoon wears on, and as the sky grows pink in the west, Merlin and Gwen cross paths once again.

“Gwen, you’re the one who looks tired now. Are you well?” he asks her, noticing her eyes look heavy.

“Yes, I think so. I can’t imagine why I feel so exhausted. I slept well last night, and I’ve hardly done anything at all today. In fact, I was going to ask if there was anything you needed me to help you with.”

“I hope you are not taking ill.”

“I’m sure I’m fine,” she says, “just a bit sleepy is all. Is there anything I can do for you?”

Merlin starts to say no, but he knows his friend. She will press until he gives in, so he may as well think of something.

“Um, Arthur has some shirts in the laundry. I was going to go and see if they were dry and bring them up.”

“I can do that,” she says with a smile and makes her way to the laundry.

Guinevere does not feel well. She doesn’t feel ill exactly, but something is not right. She makes some small talk with the girls in the laundry, but her attention keeps turning to the forest beyond the castle. _That’s odd. The woods never interested me before,_ she thinks. Still, she feels pulled to the door. She tells the head laundress, Eleanor, that she will be back shortly for the king’s shirts, but instead of going back into the castle, she goes out the door leading to the castle grounds and the forest beyond.

 

xXx

 

The light is growing dim as Merlin returns to Arthur’s room, where he is reading some parchments. He is clearly not interested in their contents, because he seems pleased to see his servant.

“Ah, Merlin,” he says.

“Yes, sire?”

“Have you seen Guinevere lately?”

“Um, she didn’t come up here with your shirts?”

“No,” he pauses, “wait. With my _what?_ ”

“Your shirts. She was going to check on them and bring them up if they were dry. But that was hours ago. Surely they would be dry by now, even in this weather.”

“You know how I feel about her doing unnecessary work,” he scolds.

“Yes, I know, but you know how she doesn’t listen to you,” Merlin counters.

Arthur stops short. “True,” he admits. “I was hoping to have a quiet dinner with her here tonight, but I haven’t seen her to ask her.”

“I haven’t seen her either. Are you sure that dinner is a good idea?”

“That’s why it’ll be here, in my room. And that’s why I need you. To stand guard.”

“I’ll go and see if I can find her,” Merlin says, and turns to leave.

“Merlin,” Arthur stops him.

“Yes?”

“Should we be worried?”

“Not yet.”

Merlin goes to the laundry to see if Gwen has been there. He sees Arthur’s shirts, clean, pressed, and folded. No sign of Gwen.

“Eleanor,” he asks the laundress, “was Guinevere here earlier?”

“Yes, but it was quite a while ago. The king’s shirts were not yet dry, so she said she’d be back in a little while. But she hasn’t been back,” she answers. Then adds, almost as an afterthought, “She didn’t look well. Perhaps she went home.”

“Maybe,” Merlin says, looking out the door leading to the grounds. Something catches his eye in the distance. A shape on the ground.

“Did she go out the door here?” he asks her.

“Heavens, I didn’t see which way she went. She might have done.”

“Thanks,” he says, now becoming worried. He heads out the door.

It is dark in the garden, but there is enough light coming from the castle that Merlin is able to see well enough. He heads for the shape he saw in the grass. As he approaches, he gains speed. It is a piece of fabric. Gwen’s wrap.

Merlin picks it up and runs for Arthur’s room. He bursts through the door, panting heavily.

“Merlin! Did you find… what is that?” Arthur asks, suddenly nervous.

“Gwen’s… …wrap… …found it… …outside,” gasps Merlin.

“Outside where?”

“Outside the laundry.”

Like a bolt of lightning, Arthur grabs his sword and coat, rushing past Merlin with a hurried, “Let’s go.”

The two men go through the laundry, ignoring the girls there, who are shocked to see the king rushing through their domain. They go out the door. It is full night now, and it is cold. The sky is clear and there is a half moon low in the sky. Merlin has a torch, and he leads Arthur to where he found the shawl. Arthur crouches, looking for a trail. He is a skilled tracker, and is able to follow easily. They make their way into the wood. Merlin calls Gwen’s name once, but Arthur shushes him.

“If she’s in trouble, she may not be alone. We would lose the advantage of surprise. Right now I don’t see any signs of anyone else, but we cannot be too cautious,” he explains.

They walk for a time. Merlin is nervous. He can see that Arthur is beside himself with worry, but he is hiding behind his task. He must concentrate on finding her, not worrying about what else he may find once he does.

They see a gully ahead. Arthur seems certain that they are still on her trail. They approach it, and look down. About three feet below them is Guinevere, lying in the brush and fallen leaves. She is not moving.

“No, no, no, no…” Arthur says as he jumps down onto the slope where Gwen is laying. He crouches down by her, searching for any sign of life. He touches her hand, her face. Both are like ice. He looks up at Merlin with terror in his eyes. “She’s freezing cold,” he chokes.

“Is she…?” Merlin asks, feeling a lump start to grow in his throat. Arthur leans in close and puts his ear to her chest, listening for a heartbeat. He lifts his head and exhales.

“Her heart beats,” he says. He can only feel minor relief. She’s alive, but unconscious and frozen. Her breathing is very shallow. “We need to get her back to the castle.”

Merlin is now beside them, frowning deeply. Arthur removes his coat, lifts Gwen’s shoulders, and wraps it around her. He then lifts her into his arms and starts to climb up the shallow slope of the gully. Merlin sets the torch upright between his feet so that he may remove his own coat. As he does so, he spies a peculiar red and gold flower next to the indentation in the leaves where Guinevere was laying. He plucks it from the ground and places it inside his tunic. As it touches his skin, he feels the unmistakable hum of magic. He quickly picks up the torch and scurries up the hill to join Arthur. He places his coat over Gwen’s legs like a blanket.

As they walk quickly back to the castle, Arthur asks, “Why would she be out here alone? She doesn’t like the forest. She would never go out here alone, I know that much.”

Merlin ponders the flower in his shirt. He must tell what he found. “Arthur?”

“What, Merlin?”

“I found this strange flower right in the spot where we found Gwen.” Merlin produces the flower.

“Yes…?” Arthur responds, not sure where his servant is going with this line of thought.

“Well, I’ve never seen anything like it before, and most flowers close at night. This one was blooming as if it were noon on a summer’s day. Plus, _look_ at it. It kind of… glows.”

Arthur looks at the flower. Indeed the gold bits do seem to be shimmering. “We’re taking her straight to Gaius. Perhaps he’ll know what it is, or have a book that can tell us.”

They reach Gauis’ door just as he is emerging from it. “What on earth has happened?” he asks.

“Gaius, she was out in the forest. She’s freezing. We need to get her warmed up,” Arthur hurriedly tells him.

Gaius comes closer, puts a hand on Gwen’s cheek and says, “Yes. I think you’d better take her to your room. Merlin, run ahead and get a fire going as hot as you can.” Gaius gives Merlin a very clear by-any-means-necessary look, and Merlin runs back up the corridor.

“My room? Why there?” Arthur asks.

“Move.” Gauis orders, and Arthur does so. “We need to bring her body temperature back up as quickly as we can, and your rooms are much warmer than mine.”

They reach Arthur’s room to find Merlin and a roaring fire. Arthur looks at Gaius and asks, “Now what?” His concern for Guinevere is taking control of his brain and he is now following orders rather than giving them.

“Put her in your bed,” Gaius says, striding ahead to pull back the covers. Arthur places Gwen on the soft mattress and Gaius leans in to remove the extra coats.

“Arthur. Boots off, shirt off. In the bed with her,” he orders the king, and starts on removing Guinevere’s over-gown.

Arthur bends to remove his boots, then his brain kicks in. “I beg your pardon?” he asks, looking at Gaius with complete disbelief. Merlin, who is standing several feet behind him, mirrors his expression.

“For heaven’s sake, man. The fastest way to warm a cold body is with a warm body. If you don’t feel qualified, I’m sure Merlin will be more than willing…”

“No, no, no, that’s all right, I think I can manage,” Arthur interrupts hurriedly, kicking his boots off and yanking at his shirt. Merlin steps up to assist Arthur, but then Gaius calls to him, “Merlin, help me with this, please.”

“Why are you taking her clothes off?” asks Arthur, peeking through his half-off shirt. “I thought we had to make her warmer, not colder. Besides, um, I don’t know if I should…”

“Clothes only work to keep you warm if you are already warm. She will need to draw heat from you, and her clothing will only act as a barrier. And don’t worry; we won’t be taking anything further off. She’ll still have her underdress on. Under the circumstances, we are not doing anything improper. All right, then. In you go.”

Arthur gingerly climbs in beside Guinevere. _This is to save her life,_ he reminds himself, but he is nervous that other parts of his body may not understand that.

“That’s it, come closer to her. Now. Hold her to you.” Gaius commands in a very businesslike manner. Arthur looks sideways at Merlin. Gaius sees his discomfort and says, more gently, “It’s all right, Arthur. I know. So you don’t need to pretend you don’t want to do this.” Gaius smiles as Arthur gathers Guinevere to him, holding her to his chest. Merlin pulls the blanket up over them, tucking them in.

“Hold her as close as you dare,” Gaius says with a wink. Arthur exhales and tries to think about jousting.

“Merlin, tell Gaius about the flower,” he remembers.

“What flower?” asks Gaius, turning to Merlin. Merlin picks up the flower, which he has set on a bedside table and shows it to Gaius. His shrewd eyes narrow and he inhales.

“That’s a Duermorte flower. I didn’t think they were real,” he says.

“Duermorte?” repeats Merlin.

“It roughly means ‘sleeping death,’ and it needs to be destroyed in order for Gwen to recover.”

“Fireplace?” offers Arthur.

“Should do the trick,” says Gaius, shooting another meaningful glance Merlin’s way, “but we will need to watch Guinevere closely once it is thrown in.”

Merlin takes the flower to the fireplace. He stares into it. He glances back over his shoulder to his companions, and sees Gaius distracting Arthur by giving him instructions on how to maximize the use of his body heat. _Very well, then._ Merlin gazes down into the flower and clears his head. Ever so softly, he whispers the words that come to him. His eyes light, reflecting the fire, and he tosses the flower. The fire burns large and red for a few seconds, sending up sparks. He turns and says, “It’s gone.”

Arthur and Gaius stare at Gwen. Merlin joins them. They wait, holding their breath. Suddenly Arthur says, “Gaius! She’s shivering! It didn’t work!” He is panic-stricken.

“No! This is good news! If she’s shivering, that means her body is fighting to warm itself!” The three men breathe, and Arthur snuggles her closer, rubbing his hands slowly up and down her back. He kisses her forehead, and finds it less cold than before. He closes his eyes, not wanting Gaius and Merlin to see how close he is to tears. He allows himself to feel some relief, but he won’t be able to relax until she wakes.

Gaius sits. Merlin looks at him and tells him, “It’s late, Gaius. You need your rest. Go home and get some sleep. I will stay up with them. I’ll come get you the minute she awakes.”

“Are you sure, Merlin? I am certainly capable of staying here as well,” Gaius says, but he can feel the tiredness in his bones. The cold air always makes his joints ache.

“Go. We’ll be fine. I’ll behave myself,” says Arthur from the bed with a smile.

“You should try and get some rest yourself, Sire,” Gaius says as he stands and walks from the room.

“Somehow I doubt very much that I’ll be able to sleep.”

 

xXx

 

Several hours pass. Merlin is unusually quiet. He, like Arthur, will not feel any real relief until he sees Gwen wake up. He busies himself keeping the fire going and tidying things around the room. Arthur seems lost in his own thoughts. He is waiting, very diligently doing his best to warm his love. He rubs her feet with his own, rubs her arms with his hands, doing everything Gaius suggested to bring her chilled body back up to temperature. He whispers softly to her at times, words only for her ears. Merlin feels like he is intruding, but he must stay for propriety’s sake. Also he promised Gaius.

Suddenly Guinevere takes a large breath of air and squirms just slightly in Arthur’s arms. Arthur whispers loudly, “Merlin!” Merlin hurries to the bedside, sees Gwen is stirring, and runs to go wake Gaius.

Arthur strokes her cheek, looking down at her. She moves again, and he loosens his grasp slightly, reluctantly. She squeezes her eyes tight for a second, then blinks them open. The first thing she sees is Arthur’s worried face.

“Arthur? What am I… where… why?” She asks foggily, trying to get a handle on what’s happening. She feels as though she has awakened from a drugged sleep.

“Shhh,” Arthur coos, kissing her forehead again. “Something enchanted you and you wandered out into the forest. Merlin and I found you unconscious and nearly frozen to death.”

“Why am I in your bed?”

“Gaius’ orders. I was instructed to warm you up.”

“He ordered you?”

“I was a little out of sorts myself,” he admits. “Do you remember anything?”

“I remember… going for your shirts. Talking to Eleanor. I was so tired. That’s all.” She snuggles her head into his shoulder, just because he’s there and she can.

“There was a flower. Do you remember a flower?”

She thinks, closing her eyes. “A red flower?”

“Yes, red and…”

“…gold.”

“Yes.”

“Gaius knew what it was. He said something about ‘sleeping death’ and it was only supposed to have been legend.”

“Where is it now?”

“Burned.”

“How did this happen? Why did I go out into the woods? What does that flower do?”

Her body, now warm, is starting to distract Arthur, and his hands start to rove a bit. He finds himself actually hoping that Merlin and Gaius will return before he does something he shouldn’t.

“Arthur?” she prompts.

“Hopefully Gaius will have some answers. Merlin went to fetch him when you started to wake.” He runs his hand along her spine. She feels like liquid in his arms.

“They’d better come back soon,” she says to his chest.

“Hmm?” Arthur hadn’t heard her.

She looks up into his eyes, and says, “They had better come back soon.” Their eyes lock and they both understand the precarious position they are in. Guinevere still feels exhausted, but she is unaccustomed to being in this kind of close proximity to Arthur, and the two separate needs are starting to do battle.

Merlin comes bursting through the door a moment later, Gaius following close behind with a book in his hands. “Guinevere!” Gaius exclaims, “I’m happy to see you are awake!”

“Thank you, Gaius,” she says to him, now feeling a little embarrassed to be lying in bed with the king now that there are two other people in the room. She starts to get up, but finds she has very little strength.

“Stay there, Gwen, I will come to you. I would like to examine you.”

“Of course,” she says, settling back in.

As Gaius examines Gwen, she asks, “Arthur was saying something about a flower?”

“Yes, I looked it up when I got back to my room. The Duermorte flower.”

“Yes?”

Merlin opens the book and reads, “‘The Duermorte flower, or the flower of sleeping death, when properly used, will place its victim in a dreamlike state. The victim will wander until he finds the flower. He will then stay with the flower until they are either found or killed.’” He then adds, “A very effective way to eliminate a person and make it look like an accident.”

“What does it mean, ‘properly used’?” Arthur asks.

“Well,” Gaius says, standing up, “a sorcerer must somehow apply the pollen from the flower to her victim’s eyelids while they sleep. Then, come next nightfall, the flower will call to that person, who will travel as though sleepwalking until they find that flower. There is only one sorcerer, or sorceress, that we know of who would do such a thing.”

“Morgana,” Merlin says coldly.

“I’m afraid so. Gwen, you appear to be recovering well, but you need some real sleep now. You were not actually sleeping this whole time, which is why you still feel so exhausted and weak. So sleep. Both of you.”

“Here?” Guinevere asks, unsure.

“We’re not moving you,” answers Gaius. “Besides, you won’t be unchaperoned.”

“I’ll stay here,” Merlin chimes in.

“I do think it would be safer for you to stay put,” Arthur adds, though he is not convinced that it is the best idea either. “If you like, I can sleep elsewhere,” he adds, hoping that she’ll say no.

“No, I think I need you here,” she says, granting Arthur’s wish. “I just don’t understand how Morgana could do this. How she could have turned so completely.”

“None of us do, my dear,” says Gaius, placing his hand on her shoulder. “We none of us can understand this because we don’t have the same capacity for hatred and cruelty she seems to possess. I’m sorry she has hurt you this way.”

“I am, too. She always used to be so good to me.” She looks down and closes her eyes. A tear works its way free from one corner of her eye. Arthur wipes it away with a finger. He is still fretting over her like a mother hen, his emotions beginning their own battle within. Rage over what was done to the woman he loves, worry for her well-being, desire at having her so close, and relief that she is alive and will recover are all warring for dominance in his heart.

“Get some sleep now,” Gaius says as he turns to exit. “Come and fetch me again in the morning when she wakes,” he says to Merlin.

Arthur cuddles her close. She no longer needs his warmth, but she needs his care. She is exhausted. She can hardly move. She cannot keep her eyes open, but she manages to look up at him through heavy lids and say, “Thank you, Arthur.” She kisses his jaw.

“Go to sleep, love,” Arthur whispers and she drifts off immediately.

Arthur is not so lucky. He lies awake for a while, his thoughts a whirlwind in his head. _Why? What has Guinevere done to her? This is my fault. She is using her to destroy me. I cannot allow that. I will double the guards in the lower town. I will have Gwen move into the castle. I will have patrols out in the forest to try and find Morgana, and then… Oh, what then? Her powers have grown so much that I almost wish I had a sorcerer on my side. Almost. God, she smells good. What is that flower she smells like? The little purple one. Lavender? Yes, that sounds right. Oh, I could get used to this. Focus, man. Morgana. Witch. I have to think of a way to put a stop to her mayhem…_

Merlin sees the king staring up at the ceiling, brows knitted, then looking at Gwen, tenderly. Then back to the ceiling, perplexed and upset.

“Arthur. We will find a way to stop her,” Merlin says quietly to him from his chair placed nearby. He is getting sleepy, too.

“Will we, Merlin? I just don’t know what to do about her. I fear she is past reason, so trying to make peace isn’t an option. She always manages to evade our grasp, and I’m running out of ideas.”

“Try and get some sleep. You will be no good to anyone tomorrow without any rest.”

“I know. I’m just so furious.”

“With Morgana.”

“With myself. What happened to Guinevere is my fault.”

“No, it isn’t. Morgana is desperate. She is grasping at anything she can to try and destroy this kingdom so that she can make it her own. I don’t think it’s a personal vendetta against you. Not anymore. Her anger has gone so far past logic that she will stop at nothing, not caring who she steps on during her journey to attain the power she thinks she deserves. She wants Camelot, and it is not just you standing in her way. It is all of us.”

Arthur sighs. “Merlin, sometimes you do make a certain sense. Thank you.” He finally closes his eyes.

 

xXx

 

The morning sun is streaming in through the window, waking Merlin. He had fallen asleep in his chair, and now there is a sunbeam in his eye. He stirs and stretches, muttering, “Ow,” when he feels how stiff his neck has become from the awkward position he fell asleep in. He looks over at his charges. They are still sleeping, curled in each other’s arms. Once again, he feels like he shouldn’t be there, like he is intruding on their intimacy. _This is what it will be like when they are married,_ he thinks with a smile. Arthur and Gwen are his two closest friends and their happiness means a lot to Merlin. He stands and quietly starts preparing for the day.

Guinevere’s eyes open. _Where am I?_ She is looking at a neck. _Arthur. Why am I in bed with Arthur?_ Slowly she remembers. She remembers the cold, the flower, Arthur, Merlin, Gaius. They saved her. She would have frozen to death had they not come looking for her. _Morgana, why?_ She looks up at Arthur’s sleeping face. He is still sleeping, but he doesn’t look relaxed. _Is he worrying about me still, even while he sleeps?_ She hears Merlin’s quiet puttering behind her. She turns as best she can. Arthur has a pretty tight grip on her still.

“Merlin,” she whispers.

“Gwen!” he exclaims. Arthur scrunches in his sleep.

“Shh!” she admonishes.

“Sorry. How are you?” his voice drops to a whisper and he comes to crouch by her side of the bed.

“Better, I think. I feel a little… foggy, but I think I’ll live,” she smiles.

“Good. I’m so glad. Arthur was so worried. So was I. We just couldn’t think of what we’d do…” he trails off, afraid of embarrassing himself.

“You saved my life, both of you. Thank you, Merlin,” she says, putting her hand on his.

“Gaius! I’m supposed to go get Gaius when you wake up,” he says, remembering his orders. He stands, adding, “Be back soon.”

She turns back around so she is facing Arthur again. She peers at him. _He’s faking it,_ she thinks. She leans up and kisses him.

“That’s not fair,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, “how am I supposed to stay asleep with you kissing me?”

“That’s the idea,” she says, and kisses him again. His eyes open and he looks down at her.

“See now, _this_ is how I want to wake up every day,” he says, smiling down at her. “How are you feeling?”

“Better. I haven’t tried to move too much yet, though.”

“Why not?”

“Because you won’t let go of me.”

“Oh, sorry,” he says, but still doesn’t let go. In fact, he holds her a little tighter.

“Arthur….”

“I’ll let you go when Gaius comes back. Until then, you aren’t going anywhere.”

She snuggles into his chest. She feels unnecessarily happy. “Strange, isn’t it?” she asks Arthur’s chest.

“What’s that?”

“That the best morning of my life was caused by me almost dying.” She leans back and looks up at him again. Her heart feels filled with his presence.

Merlin and Gaius will be back soon, and then she’ll have to get out of his bed and go back to reality. Arthur seems to be thinking the same thing, and he dips his head and kisses her tenderly, softly, reminding himself that he will be proposing marriage soon enough, and it will not be long before she will be in his arms every night.


	2. Masquerade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana makes her brand new servant attend Camelot's Maquerade ball. On her first day there. Rated T.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t…” Guinevere protests.

“You can and you will. Come on, it’ll be fun!” Morgana argues.

“But…”

“No buts. You realize you have to do what I say, don’t you? It’s part of the job.”

“Yes, my lady,” Gwen bows her head, looking at her feet.

“And I want you to come to the masquerade tonight.”

“Very well.”

“Oh, now, don’t be like that. It will be deliciously naughty.”

“That’s what worries me. It’s my first day! No one even knows who I am! My lady,” she adds, remembering herself again.

“And that’s precisely why this will work.” Morgana walks over to her new maidservant, placing her hand on her shoulder reassuringly. “Gwen, the fact that no one knows who you are is exactly why I want you to come. If everyone knew you, it wouldn’t work at all. You’re far too…” she pauses, studying the girl, looking for the word, “ _unique_ to be unrecognizable, even with a mask on.”

“Unique?” Gwen asks.

“Well, look at you. No one in Camelot looks like you, with your dark curls and cinnamon skin. Sure, there are people of all kinds roaming the kingdom, but I’ve never seen another like you.”

Gwen stares.

“I mean that as a compliment, Gwen.”

“Thank you, my lady,” she says, bowing her head, blushing in the face of Camelot’s most famed beauty complimenting her in such a way. _I am nothing special,_ she almost says, but holds her tongue.

“So you’ll come.”

“If you wish, my lady.”

“I do. And you’re not allowed to be a wallflower, either,” she says, as if reading the girl’s thoughts.

“I…”

“Don’t even bother, I could see it on your face,” Morgana smiles at her, finding she likes her new maid quite a lot. _She’s charming. Sweet. She’ll make someone a good wife one day._ “Gwen, you’d be surprised how anonymity can make you braver than you would normally be.”

“I have nothing to wear, my lady.”

“Psshh,” she blows, dismissing that thought. “You will wear something of mine. And no arguments!”

Gwen closes her mouth.

“I have two dresses ordered as possibilities for this evening, and they arrived late this morning. One of them is no good for me at all, but I think it will work quite nicely for you,” she says, indicating her wardrobe. “Go see.”

Gwen walks to the wardrobe and opens it to find two dresses together off to one side, separated from the multitudes of other dresses already there. She pulls them out. One is a deep green, like an emerald at night, silk, with gold accents. The other is a soft peachy-pink color, also silk, with silver. She withdraws the peach one, holding it up.

“So you do have an eye,” Morgana appraises, nodding and smiling. “I don’t know why the seamstress thought that color would favor me,” she shakes her head. “But when I met you after lunch, something clicked in my brain,” she says, smiling again.

“It is beautiful, my lady. I have never worn something so fine.”

“Do you see the mask that goes with it? It’s on the shelf.”

She reaches up and pulls it down. It is peach and pearl white, with silver accents and dyed peach feathers. Impulsively, she holds it to her face and looks at Morgana.

She claps and laughs delightedly. “Perfect!” she declares, and Gwen allows herself a smile before she lowers the mask, suddenly bashful again.

“All right, come back in two hours’ time and we’ll start getting ready.”

“Yes, my lady,” Gwen curtseys briefly and turns to leave, grateful for the respite, but dreading what is to come.

 

xXx

 

The masquerade ball has already begun, and Guinevere is fretting. Morgana is lounging about her apartments, taking her time.

“I never appear until after the party has begun, Gwen,” Morgana tells her. “If I was there on time, no one would see me arrive.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Morgana turns. “Gwen. Hands down, don’t pick at your cuticles. Head high, shoulders back. If you carry yourself like you shouldn’t be there, people will know that you shouldn’t be there.”

“But I _shouldn’t_ be there.”

“Stop being difficult. Put your mask on and I’ll help you with your hair.”

She does as she is told, affixing the mask in place, and Morgana arranges her curls to cascade over her shoulders becomingly. Gwen was smart enough to twist the top and sides back, away from her face, to allow for the mask, and Morgana has even helped her apply a few cosmetics, tinting her lips and darkening her already long lashes.

“Very nice,” Morgana appraises. _Almost too much so,_ she thinks, but it is too late to turn back now. “Can you help me with mine now?”

“Of course. I can see quite well, actually.”

Morgana sits at her vanity and Gwen places her mask on her and fixes her hair, which she has painstakingly curled into ringlets that flow down over her shoulder in ebony coils.

“You are beautiful, my lady.”

“Thank you, Gwen. Let’s go.”

Gwen takes a deep breath. “Very well.”

As they walk to the hall, Morgana turns to Gwen. “Two things.”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Your name is Esmeralda.”

“Um…”

“Esmeralda.”

Gwen nods.

“And second: stay away from the king. He’ll ask too many questions.”

 _The king. Gods give me strength._ “Yes, my lady.”

 

xXx

 

They’ve orchestrated their entrance so that Morgana will be taking all the attention while Gwen slips quietly in. No one seems to notice her sliding in and creeping along the wall. At least she thinks no one has noticed.

“Merlin, who is that?” Prince Arthur asks his manservant.

“I don’t know, Sire,” Merlin answers, peering. _It looks an awful lot like Morgana’s new maid,_ he thinks, but he keeps his thoughts to himself, for if he is wrong, he would be insulting a noble.

“I’m going over,” he says, downing his goblet.

The prince is dressed all in rich blues and greens, a departure from the usual reds he tends to favor. He has a deep peacock blue mask on with gold rope detail and an all-over dusting of gold. Merlin had called him a strutting peacock, and as he watches his master stride across the hall to the mysterious lady, he is convinced that he was indeed correct.

The minstrels begin to play, and Arthur approaches Guinevere.

“Excuse me my lady, but would you favor me with a dance?”

Gwen jumps as a handsome man with golden hair addresses her. He chuckles, holding his hand out to her.

“Forgive me, my lord, you startled me,” she answers, eyes quickly scanning the room for Morgana. She sees her far on the other side, engaging the king in conversation. Or flattery.

“Dance?” he asks again, now reaching for her hand.

“Yes, thank you,” she says, attempting to appear calm, though her heart is threatening to thump its way out of her chest.

The touch of his hand does nothing to soothe the panicked organ, and Gwen is sure that he can even see her heartbeat; the dress is certainly cut low enough.

“You are new in Camelot,” he says as they begin the steps of the dance. Fortunately it is one that Gwen knows.

“Yes. Just arrived, in fact,” she answers. _Be as vague as you can,_ Morgana had advised.

“Will you do me the honor of telling me your name?”

“Isn’t the point of a masquerade to be anonymous?” she asks, and immediately wishes she could snatch the words back into her mouth. _Impertinent, Gwen._

Arthur just laughs, though, and she tries to feel relieved. “Good point,” he says, but next opportunity, during a step where he pulls her in close, he mutters, “I will find out your name.”

His voice rumbling low in her ear makes her feel inexplicably warm all over, but all she can do is answer, “Oh?” just before she spins away from him.

Back and forth, near and far, and every time she is near, he is speaking words in her ear. He finds he is enjoying the lovely pinkish flush creeping over her tawny skin that deepens with each comment.

“I’m very determined.”

“I will start guessing, you know.”

“I will ask everyone in the kingdom who you are.”

“I can be very persuasive.” This last whispered so close that she can feel his lips brush her ear and she gasps before she can help herself.

The song ends, and Gwen doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. She curtseys as regally as she can and speeds away into the crowd, leaving Arthur standing there dumbfounded.

_I have to find out who she is. There is something about her. Her smell, her hair, her skin, her lips… oh, her lips. I’ve never seen lips so beautiful before._

“Arthur,” Merlin calls to him. The minstrels have started to play again and Arthur is standing in the middle of the floor, in everyone’s way, with no partner.

He blinks, waking from his daydream, and walks back over to Merlin, embarrassed.

“So who is she?” Merlin asks, handing him his goblet.

“She wouldn’t tell me,” he pouts, taking the cup and drinking, eyes scanning the room for her. “And now she’s disappeared.”

“She can’t have gone far, my lord.”

“Find out who she is,” Arthur commands, handing his goblet back to Merlin and heading off again, looking for her.

Gwen has stepped out of the hall for a moment to collect herself. _I shouldn’t be in there. Only as a servant. I should be serving, not dancing in this silly costume. This beautiful gown that is much too fine for me._

“Gwen?” a soft voice calls and she nearly faints from surprise and fear.

She peeks in the direction of the voice, petrified. _It’s Merlin, thank goodness._

One of the only people she’s met that day has been Merlin, who, despite being the prince’s trusted personal manservant, is a sweet and trustworthy young man, and they struck up an immediate friendship.

“Merlin,” she whispers, and he slips over to her.

“What are you doing?” he asks in a panicked whisper.

“Morgana thought it would be a bit of a lark for me to attend the masquerade. I couldn’t say no.”

Merlin sees the fear in her eyes and immediately feels for the girl, being no stranger to the whims of the nobility himself.

“I won’t say anything,” he promises. _And I probably shouldn’t say that the prince is smitten with you to the point of near-obsession, either._

“Thank you,” she breathes, taking his hand in hers. Morgana had even given her a pair of long white silk gloves to wear to disguise her servant’s hands.

“Why are you hiding out here?”

“Because I panicked.”

“You should go back in. Morgana will notice if you’re missing,” he cautions.

“Goodness, you’re right.”

“Go. I’ll hang back a moment or two before going back in myself.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” she squeezes his hand, takes a deep breath, and re-enters. Immediately a servant offers her a goblet. _Why not?_ she thinks, and takes it.

She walks around the perimeter, careful to keep an eye on King Uther’s whereabouts. Fortunately, his costume is such that it is still clear who is king. Morgana catches her eye from where she is spinning around the dance floor with a tall man with longish medium brown curly hair, and waves. Gwen weakly waves back, and as she moves again, she sees her admirer approaching her.

_He’s back._

She pretends to see something that takes her interest, and changes direction, cutting across the far end of the room. When she is brave enough to look back, her mystery man in blue is chatting with the king.

_That was a close one._

“Esmeralda,” a familiar voice says close by, and Gwen turns.

“My lady, this is too stressful,” she whispers to her mistress.

“You’re doing fine, just relax.”

“Um…”

“Yes?”

“There is a young man who seems… interested in me, my lady. I don’t know what to do.”

“String him along as far as you dare,” she says with a devilish smirk.

“My lady!” Gwen exclaims quietly, shocked.

Morgana laughs. “Who is it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you tell him your name was Esmeralda?”

“I did not tell him my name at all, though he did ask.”

“Even better,” Morgana smiles.

“But now he is on a mission to find me out, it seems,” Gwen says, looking furtively about again. She sees him coming. “He’s coming this way now, in fact. Please excuse me,” she says hurriedly and floats quickly away.

 _She certainly is graceful for a serving girl. Carries herself well._ Morgana looks to see if she can discern the identity of Gwen’s admirer. She looks and sees three different men walking towards her. _One is clearly Arthur. I don’t recognize the second right now, and the third is one of the knights. Bedivere, perhaps?_

“My lady, would you honor me?” a voice asks Morgana, and she turns her attention away and smiles at the suitor.

“Of course.”

 

xXx

 

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

_That voice again. That honeyed voice, deep and sweet; I just want it to speak words of love in my ears for hours and hours…_

“My lord?” Gwen turns around, caught on a balcony, alone. _Alone._

“You’ve been avoiding me, my lady.” He advances slowly. “Why? I mean you no harm. I only wish to know who you are.”

“I just needed some air,” she says, but she suddenly discovers that she must have used it all up already.

“Air,” he nods, humoring her. “Right.”

He is right in front of her now, looming over her, but not in a menacing way. She can smell the soft woodsy smell of him, of smoke from the torches on the walls and the wine that has passed his lips. It is undeniably masculine, very intriguing, and nearly irresistible.

Arthur’s hand comes up and he touches her jawline with one finger, tracing the line of it to her chin. “Please,” he says, his voice nearly a whisper, “tell me your name.”

With that, he leans down and gives her the most fleeting of kisses, his lips brushing hers like a sigh. Gwen’s eyelids flutter and she feels a curious gentle burn in the pit of her stomach, like she is slowly falling.

“Esmeralda,” she has the presence of mind to remember her pseudonym, at least, but her voice is a whisper.

“Esmeralda,” he repeats, and suddenly she wishes that it really was her name. The way he says it sounds like a delicious kiss.

She stares up into his eyes, fascinated by the starburst striations of cornflower blue and stormcloud grey that make up his irises.

“Where have you come to me – I mean, us, Camelot – from?”

 _Oh, no. We didn’t discuss that detail._ Improvising, Guinevere lifts up on tiptoe and presses her lips to his, softly but persuasively. _I didn’t realize how hungry I was for more of his kisses until just now._

Arthur groans low in the back of his throat and brings his arms around her waist, pulling her close into his embrace. He breaks the kiss for just a moment, pausing to gaze down at her honey-brown eyes with their long sooty lashes, framed by the beautiful mask, and returns his lips to hers, parted this time, coaxing hers apart with his tongue.

She whimpers quietly, almost kitten-like, and meets his curious tongue with her own, winding her arms around his neck, tangling her fingers into the soft hair at the nape of his neck as he leans her back, dipping her, forcing her to hang on.

 _She is delicious, like a soft, sweet, honeyed cake._ His lips leave hers and travel to her neck, leaving a heated trail in their wake.

Gwen gasps as a torrent of sensation courses through her, making her hot and weak and aching. _Aching for him. For more, far more than is allowable._

_Far more than is allowable._

That thought snaps Guinevere back to reality, and she places her hands on his shoulders, against his chest, pressing her palms gently but firmly.

“Oh…” he says, straightening back up, still holding her narrow waist lightly. “Forgive me, I got… carried away,” he says, clearing his throat.

“I am sorry, my lord, I rather did as well, I fear,” she says, her cheeks flushed.

A soft tapping noise and a politely cleared throat behind them saves her. _Thank you, Merlin._

Arthur turns. “Yes?” he says coolly, glaring at his servant through the holes in his mask.

“You are being asked for inside, my lord,” Merlin says, biting back his smile.

“One moment,” Arthur says, and turns back to Esmeralda/Guinevere.

She’s gone.

 

xXx

 

“And where did you scurry off to last night, Gwen?” Morgana asks as Gwen attends her the next morning.

“I got tired and… a bit overwhelmed, I’m afraid, my lady,” she admits.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Yes, my lady,” she says, and her blush is not lost on Morgana.

“Ah, so your admirer got a little overwhelming, then?”

“You might say that.”

There is a knock at Morgana’s chamber doors. “Come in,” she calls, turning at her vanity to see who is disturbing her this early.

“Ah, Arthur, what can I do for you this morning?” Morgana asks, standing, and Gwen goes to finish making her bed and gather her laundry.

“I was just curious to see how you were faring this morning. You were at the masquerade quite late last night, you know. And I was also wondering if you knew who…” he trails off, noticing Morgana’s maid. “Did you get a new maidservant?”

“Yes,” Morgana says, holding her hand out towards Gwen. “This is Guinevere. She started yesterday. Gwen, this is Prince Arthur of Camelot.”

Gwen curtseys. “My lord, it is an honor to meet you,” she says and when she lifts her face they both have to contain their surprised gasps.

“Guinevere,” he says, nodding slowly. His eyes lock with hers momentarily before dropping to her lips.

_It’s him. I know those eyes, those lips, that jaw. That voice._

_It’s her. I would know those lips, that skin, that hair anywhere._

“I am just fine this morning, Arthur. I’m sorry if that disappoints you,” she smirks at him.

“Well, I shall just have to find another opportunity to appreciate your misery,” he shrugs, winking. He spares Gwen one last puzzled glance and sweeps from the room, calling, “See you at breakfast,” over his shoulder.

Morgana waves her hand dismissively at him. She turns to Gwen. “So that was the famous Prince Arthur. He’s an arrogant prat most of the time, but occasionally he is tolerable.”

“Yes, my lady,” Gwen says obediently, keeping her face hidden.

“I think most of the kingdom expects us to marry one day,” she says, pulling a brush through her long hair.

“Oh?”

“But I don’t think that will happen,” she adds. “Not if I have any say. He’s too much… too much like a brother to me. The idea of marriage to him?” She shudders, indicating her repulsion.

“If you’ll excuse me, my lady, I’ll take these to the laundry,” Gwen says, struggling to keep her expression neutral amidst thoughts of her mysterious admirer being the prince and the possibility of Morgana possibly marrying him roiling in her brain like a boiling pot. _Not that you’d ever get a chance at a prince, foolish girl. Wipe that thought from your traitorous brain right now._

“Of course. And Gwen,” Morgana turns, “last night was fun, wasn’t it?” She grins a wicked grin.

“In a way, it was, my lady. But never again, I’m afraid,” she answers with a curtsey and turns to leave.

 

xXx

 

In the corridor, Guinevere pauses, alone, basket on her hip. She heaves a great sigh, closes her eyes a moment, and attempts to clear her head. Then, squaring her shoulders, she heads down the corridor, towards the laundry.

“Esmeralda,” a familiar voice says plainly, stopping her in her tracks.

“I’m sorry, I…” she starts, not turning toward the voice.

“I like your real name better.” His voice is closer now. “Guinevere,” he says it, and she nearly drops her basket.

“Lady Morgana made me come, I didn’t want to…” she tries again.

“I don’t care.”

Gwen finds herself gently pulled into a secluded alcove and her basket removed from her hands. It lands with a crackly thump on the stone floor when he drops it.

“My lord…” she starts, but trails off, not knowing what to say, her mind empty and her voice failing as his large warm hands gently circle her waist.

“That was very dangerous of Lady Morgana, wasn’t it?” he says quietly, pulling her closer, his eyes soft, his lips looking even softer.

“My lord?”

“Throwing her brand new maidservant to the wolves of nobility,” he says, lifting a hand to lift her chin, “risking discovery,” he strokes her chin with a single finger, “your job,” he cups her cheek with his palm, and her face turns into it automatically, unbidden by her, “and my sanity,” he bends his head and kisses her, and his head swims with her scent, her lips, her very presence.

“You intoxicate me,” he mutters against her lips, “I am powerless in your presence.”

“We only just met,” she manages, straining for sanity herself, her hands clutching his vest, “my lord.”

“Arthur,” he corrects before pushing the kiss further, deeper, giving in to his most base need to explore the interior of her mouth a second time, just to see if his memory had been playing tricks on him.

It hadn’t.

_She is a ripe strawberry, sweet and succulent._

“Arthur,” she repeats, pulling her lips away.

“Yes,” he answers, loving the sound of his name on her lips. Thinking she’s saying his name out of passion, he returns his lips to hers.

“No,” she says, stopping him. “This isn’t right.” _Yes, it is. Nothing has ever felt more right._

“Yes, it is,” he says, “Nothing has ever felt more right.”

She cannot contain her gasp.

“What is it, my beauty?”

“We shouldn’t. I… I agree, it _feels_ right, somehow, but it cannot be.”

“You let me worry about that,” he says confidently, kissing her cheek, her forehead.

“What if someone sees?”

“They won’t.”

 _He is arrogant indeed,_ she thinks, but somehow that just makes him more appealing. She sighs and drops her forehead to rest on his chest. “This is madness.”

“I know.”

She lifts her head. “You do? And you aren’t worried?”

“I can be very persuasive,” he says, grinning at her before capturing her lips with his own once more.


	3. You Look Good In My Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur gets a surprise visitor during a rainstorm. Rated E.

The rain was unrelenting outside. Typical London spring. Luckily for Arthur Pendragon, he was cozy, warm, and dry inside his posh flat, a fire in his fireplace and a football game on his telly, conveniently located above said fireplace.

And he was alone. He liked being alone. No one could ever accuse Arthur of being antisocial, far from it, but every couple of weeks or so he would feel the need to sequester himself in his home, away from the chatter and noise and drama of other people.

So when his doorbell rang that night, he considered not answering it. Then there was a blinding flash of lightning followed by an ear-splitting crack of thunder, and he remembered that someone is standing outside getting wet because he was being a prat.

Still, he grumbled all the way to his front door.

“Guinevere?” he says, puzzled beyond measure at the huddled, wet form of his sister’s best friend standing and shivering on his front step. “Come in, come in, sorry,” he recovers and ushers her in.

“S-s-sorry, Arthur, I know you’re hunkered d-down,” she chatters. “My c-car got a flat a couple blocks away, and it was too wet to try and change it. Then I realized you lived just here, and…”

“No, no, it’s fine, let’s get you dry, shall we?” he says. “Take your shoes off,” he nods downward, peeling her jacket from her shoulders as she pulls her feet from her soggy boots. “You’re soaked through,” he says. “Come on,” he takes her clammy hand and pulls her through his apartment to the bathroom.

He takes a clean towel from the linen cupboard and wraps it around her, his large hands registering how small she is. She’s like a little bird, quivering in his hands.

“I look like a drowned rat,” she says, spying her reflection in the large mirror.

“Nonsense,” he says. She looks as beautiful as she always does.

Being his sister’s best friend, she was automatically off-limits. Being his sister’s best friend, she was automatically intriguing. Especially since they’d grown up and she turned into a sweet, intelligent, caring, beautiful woman with flawless skin, a melodious voice, and lips he could lose himself in, given half an opportunity.

“Would you like a hot shower? I know the last thing you probably want is to get wet,” he pauses, the double entendre hitting him square in the forehead, causing his mouth to dry momentarily and his voice to crack like a 13-year-old, “but the hot water might help warm you up. I’ll pop your clothes in the dryer while you’re in, and they’ll be toasty warm in no time.”

She looks up at him with her big brown eyes, holding his gaze a bit longer than she should, realizing that his warm hands are still on her shoulders. “Okay,” she says quietly.

“I’ll just… leave you to it, then. There are more towels in the cupboard,” he points. “Help yourself to anything,” he mutters as he exits the bathroom.

The knowledge that she’s in there getting naked is daunting, and Arthur hopes very much that she’ll lock the door or he may not be able to be held accountable for his actions.

“Arthur?” she calls from the bathroom. He jogs back, puzzled. And wary.

“Yes?” he ask.

She is peeking from the bathroom door, wrapped in the towel, her wet clothes dangling from her hand. “Here,” she says.

“Oh. Thanks. Will these be okay in the dryer? Won’t ruin anything?”

“Don’t think so. I don’t normally put my bra in the dryer, but one time shouldn’t hurt.”

“Okay,” he croaks. Bra. Knickers. He hadn’t thought about underthings.

“Thank you, Arthur. This is really thoughtful of you.” She smiles shyly at him.

“No trouble at all, Guinevere.”

He waits, trying to watch the game while she showers. His concentration is scattered, lost somewhere amongst the water droplets on his foyer floor. He can hear her singing to herself in his shower. He can hear the button from her jeans clicking and scraping against the metal interior of his dryer as it tumbles. He can hear his heart pounding in his chest.

Arthur paces, wondering why she is suddenly affecting him so much tonight. Perhaps it’s the surprise of her turning up here, all tiny and helpless. Perhaps it’s the storm. Perhaps he’s really been quite smitten with her for longer than he realized.

He hears the shower turn off. He tries not to imagine her emerging from the shower, her small body glistening, her cinnamon skin tinged slightly pink now from the hot water as droplets roll down her body, outlining every curve and crevice.

Arthur grabs his bottle of ale and takes a long drink.

The door opens and she pads softly to the living room, looking for him. In his distraction, Arthur forgot to give her anything to put on for after her shower.

She found his white dress shirt that had been hanging in the bathroom. He got a small stain on the sleeve and had cleaned it and left it to hang dry.

“You said that I could help myself to anything,” she says apologetically. Her hair is down, cascading in damp ringlets around her shoulders. The cuffs hang below her hands and the shirttails reach almost to her knees. Her shapely brown legs, long for her height, contrast beautifully against the white of his shirt.

“Sorry. I should have given you a robe, or some pajamas or something,” he says quietly.

“It’s not too late, just point me to it, and—”

“You look good in my shirt,” he blurts.

“Oh,” she answers dumbly, surprised. “It was either this or the towel,” she adds, looking down at her hands.

“You’d look good in that, too,” he adds, taking a step closer. “You look good in anything.”

“Arthur?” she looks up at him as he slowly walks over to her.

“Guinevere,” he answers, her name a prayer on his lips.

“What are you… when did…?” Gwen stammers, her heartbeat speeding up. He is right in front of her now, his eyes dark and shining, and his proximity is doing strange things to her brain.

“My sister may kill me for this, but I bet it’ll be worth it,” he mutters low, lifting his fingers to her chin, tilting her face up.

She stares, wide-eyed, but her lips part in anticipation, betraying the desire racing through her. She just sees the barest hint of a smirk before his lips are on hers and his hand is sliding, his fingers caressing the side of her neck.

Arthur slips his tongue forward, teasing the small opening between her lips. She immediately parts them wider and meets his curious tongue with her own.

He groans and pulls her against him, his other hand wrapping around her waist as she clutches his shirt, her arms pinned between them.

She melts against him, kissing him back feverishly, as though she wants him as much as he wants her.

The thought is jarring enough that he pulls his lips away, shock plain on his face. “Guinevere?” he asks. He is still holding her close, staring down into her little upturned face.

“Was it worth it?” she breathes.

“Oh, yeah,” he says, an unbidden grin creeping across his face.

She leans up and pecks his lips once. “Well, since you’re going to die anyway, do you want to at least earn your sentence?”

“What?” He has lost all capacity to think.

Gwen worms one hand free, sliding it around his torso and down. She squeezes his backside and presses her hips forward. His arousal presses against her stomach and she gasps softly.

“Really? You… you want…”

“Yes,” she says, kissing his neck, sucking his Adam’s apple, “I do.”

He groans, says a silent prayer of thanks to whatever god it is that apparently lives on his ceiling, and then kisses her again. “One second,” he whispers. Then he switches off the telly, flips off the gas to shut the fire off, and turns off the living room lights.

Without a word, he lifts her into his arms and heads back to his bedroom, kissing her all the while.

He sets her gently on his bed, watching her as he pulls his shirt off over his head. She shuffles his bedclothes down, kicking them out of the way just before he drops down next to her.

“Guinevere, I…” he starts and stops again, deciding that kissing is more important than talking right now. He unbuttons one button on the shirt and noses his way into the collar to kiss her neck.

“Oh…” she breathes, tilting her head back into his pillow, her fingers threading into his hair. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” she whispers the admission as her other hand slides down his bare back, relishing the broad flat muscles under her palm.

“God, Guinevere, you’re killing me,” he mutters against her skin, undoing another button, kissing lower, to her nearly-exposed breasts.

She pulls at his hair in an attempt to move his head where she wants it to go, but he is determined to take his time, determined to savor every inch, every second.

Another button opens and he kisses between her breasts, inhaling her scent, clean and intoxicating. He groans and undoes one more, and kisses her stomach.

Then he lifts up and just looks at her, on his bed, in his shirt, opened almost completely, her breasts and groin still covered.

“You are so beautiful, Guinevere,” he says. She opens her eyes and smiles at him.

“So are you,” she says. Then she reaches down, unfastens the last button, and opens the shirt fully, revealing everything to him.

“Oh, my God,” he groans, and she reaches and pulls him back down to her, pulling his lips to hers. Even in his smuttiest dreams – which are always about Guinevere – she never looked this good.

Her hands trail down his chest to the waistband of the sweats he is wearing and pulls, yanking them down as much as she can.

“Sorry about the sweats,” he mumbles, pulling away to finish removing them, “I wasn’t expecting a visitor.”

“I’ve seen you looking worse,” she says, smirking and sitting up to shrug his shirt the rest of the way off and fling it aside.

He descends on her now, kissing her lips, her jaw, her neck, working his way lower until he finally pulls a stiff nipple into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue until she whimpers his name.

Arthur pushes his hips forward, prodding her core with his erection, and she moans softly, sliding her legs against his hips. He pulls back and moves his hand down to touch her now.

“Mmm,” she moans, tilting her hips into his hand.

“Guinevere, I…” he starts again, talking in between his kisses, “this probably isn’t the best time…” he pulls her other nipple into his mouth, sucking and biting gently, “…but I…” he works his way back up to her lips, his fingers sliding into her, “…I’ve been in…” he kisses her deeply, while he draws small tight circles around the swollen bundle of nerves between her legs, “…in love with you for so long…” he finally finishes his thought, groaning as her hand closes around his shaft, squeezing and sliding. “Oh…” he groans.

“Oh, Arthur…” his words slowly register through all the sensations. “How… how long?”

She positions his manhood at her opening, practically trembling with anticipation of both his entrance and his answer, and he hesitates.

Gwen opens her eyes to find him staring down at her, a question in his eyes. “What is it?” she asks.

“Nightstand… top drawer…” he says.

“Pill,” she answers, kissing him. “Go. Please,” she begs.

He grins at her and slides swiftly in, burying himself deep, and she cries out with the feeling of him.

“Years,” he finally answers, pulling slowly back and then forward again. “At least… five years… maybe more…” he grunts, talking between his long strokes and kisses.

“Ohhh…” Gwen moans, long and low, her hands gripping his shoulders, combing through his hair, her nails scratching his scalp till it tingles.

“Oh…” Arthur pants, “so good…”

“Yes,” Gwen absently agrees. “More…”

“Yes,” Arthur agrees, increasing his efforts until she is writhing and whimpering and mewling and gasping his name.

The dam bursts and she screams his name, her whole body tightening around him as she comes, unraveling beautifully beneath him.

Arthur follows almost immediately, plunging in deep and stilling, his face tucked into her neck as he clings to her, his member throbbing within her, his body a coiled spring.

Slowly he relaxes and slumps over her, rolling them to the side so he won’t squish her.

“I love you, too, Arthur,” she says after several wonderful quiet minutes.

“You do?” he asks, his hands stroking her skin.

“Mmm-hmm,” she nods against his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest, fingers idly stroking his skin through his chest hair.

“Did you really get a flat tire, or was this an elaborate ploy to seduce me?” he asks, grinning.

“Yes, Arthur. I pretended to get a flat because I wanted to walk two blocks in a downpour to your flat so I could charm you with my über-sexy drowned rat look,” she deadpans, lifting her head to stare at him.

“Perhaps not, then.”

“Oh, trust me, Pendragon. If I was out to seduce you, you’d know.”

“Is that so?” he asks. “And what would you do?” he cajoles.

“I’d put on my sexiest lingerie,” she purrs, leaning up to nibble his ear, “and my slinkiest dress,” her hand goes wandering now, “and my fuck-me pumps,” she places sucking kisses on his neck, “and I’d take you by your necktie, and…”

“Oh, God, stop!” Arthur begs, “I can’t take any more…” he gasps. “You’ve made your point.”

“Have I?” Gwen asks, climbing over him and straddling his stomach. “Pity. I was just getting started.”

“Show me, then,” he challenges, lacing his fingers behind his head and gazing up at her.

“Oh, I am so going to wipe that smug smile right off your face,” she grins, leaning down to kiss him. “And I’m going to replace it with a completely different smug smile,” she says, a delicious threat.

Arthur groans again, amazed at his luck as she kisses her way down his chest.

 

Xxx

 

The strains of “Bitch” by Meredith Brooks jolts Gwen from her blissful slumber. She tries to move, but something is holding her. Something warm and firm. Something that smells good. Something that is grumbling.

“Arthur, that’s my phone,” she mumbles, rolling over to grab it. “Hey, Morgana.”

There is a small groan from the bed.

“Hey, are we still going shopping this morning?” Morgana asks.

“Um, no, I need to get my car fixed. I blew a tire last night,” she says.

“That’s not the only thing you blew last night,” a sleepy voice comments softly. She kicks him, trying not to giggle. He pulls her back over, wrapping his arms and legs around her and resting his head on her chest.

“Oh no! Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Gwen says. Arthur nods his enthusiastic agreement against her chest.

“How did you get home? Why didn’t you call me?”

“Um, I’m at Arthur’s, actually. My tire went two blocks from his flat and it was pouring rain and nearly ten p.m. And you were out doing naughty things with Gwaine.”

There is silence on the other end of the phone.

“I’m dead,” Arthur says.

“Oh, God, I heard him, is he right there?” Morgana exclaims, horrified.

“Um, yeah. Little bit.”

“He lured you into his bed, didn’t he?” It is more an accusation than a question.

“If anyone did any luring, Morgana, it was me. You know I’ve had a crush on him since that one day.”

“I know.”

“What one day?” Arthur asks, curious now.

“When I fell out of that tree and broke my ankle and you carried me back to the house and got me ice.”

“God, you were, like, ten then!” Arthur exclaims.

“So?” Gwen says, giggling now.

“Guinevere!” Morgana yells from the phone. “I can hear him as well as I can hear you…” she trails off as realization hits her. “Gah! You’re still in bed with him, aren’t you? You’re naked, aren’t you?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Gwen says.

“Ew,” Morgana complains.

“And you are not to kill him.”

“Aw, come on, just a little?” Morgana asks.

“No. He told me last night that he’s been in love with me for years. You can’t kill him because I love him back. And because you love me, he gets to live.”

“Fine,” she huffs. “But tell him he has to treat you like a queen or he is a dead man.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Okay.”

“Morgana?”

“What?”

“Your brother’s really good in bed.”

“Ack! Stop! No! Wrong! Hanging up now!”

Gwen silences her phone, a smug smile on her face. “That should shut her up for a while,” she says, setting her phone back on the nightstand.

“Good,” Arthur says, shifting so he is hovering over her, nestling in between her knees. “Because I don’t want to be disturbed for a while,” he says, swiftly capturing her lips with his.


	4. In Bloom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I'm in love with the woman who tends the plants.” Rated G.

“I'm in love with the woman who tends the plants.”

Merlin stares at Arthur, wondering if he's slipped into some sort of parallel dimension. “What?” he asks. “You called me in here to tell me _that?_ ”

“I'm serious, Merlin,” he says, his head dropping into his hands. “I can't stop thinking about her.”

“Do you even know her name?” Merlin challenges.

Arthur's brow furrows. “It's something simple. Short. Lynn? Jen. No. Gwen,” he finally finds the right one. “Gwen,” he repeats. He looks at Merlin. “Do you suppose that's short for something, like Gwendolyn or…?”  
“Guinevere,” Merlin supplies. “It's short for Guinevere.”

“How do you know that?” Arthur asks, narrowing his eyes at his friend.

“It's on the paperwork from the landscaping company,” Merlin sighs. “I _am_ head of Human Resources, you know.”

Arthur visibly relaxes. “Oh, yes. Of course.”

Merlin plops into one of the chairs in front of Arthur's massive mahogany desk. “Why do you think you're in love with her?”

“Well, first, have you _seen_ her?” Arthur responds, the _duh_ clear in his tone.

“Yes, but I'm not into girls, you know that,” Merlin answers.

Arthur dismissively waves his hand. “You have two functioning eyes.”

“Fine; she's very pretty,” he answers. “Bit outside of your normal type though. More… wholesome than your usual fare.”

Arthur doesn't take offense. In fact, he nods. “That might be part of what's so appealing about her. She's beautiful, but in a… realistic way. Natural. Not like that walking Barbie doll Vivian or the too-perfect-to-be-real Mithian. And she's so _nice._ I don't think I've ever encountered someone so kind.”

“Is she? How do you know? Oh. You've been watching her like the creeper that you are,” Merlin reasons.

“I am not a creeper. I can't help it that my window overlooks the main entrance of the building and I happened to see her helping that new girl… Sefa? pick up a stack of papers she dropped outside, even though she had her hands full with her own things,” Arthur says. “She even chased a few down that the wind took. Oh! And _then_ there was the time—”

“Arthur!” Merlin interrupts him, holding up his hands in surrender. “Have you _talked_ to her?”

Arthur's eyes widen. “I can't.”

“You can't,” Merlin repeats, incredulous. “ _You._ Can't. Talk to a _girl._ ”

“Not this one.” When Merlin continues staring, Arthur exclaims, “What? I've tried! It's like… like I'm 15 years old again. I get all tongue-tied and awkward. Stop laughing!”

“Sorry,” Merlin apologizes, trying to curb his laughter. “I was going to ask you to tell me what happened, but I don't think I could take it…”

Arthur scowls and throws a pencil at Merlin, who easily dodges it. “I also don't want her to think that I'm… you know, taking advantage of my position as CEO. I'm not like that and I would hate for her to get that impression.”

“Yes, your motives are pure as the driven snow,” Merlin drily comments.

“They are!” Arthur protests. “Well, mostly. I mean, yes, I'm ridiculously attracted to her, but it's because I want to get to know her. As a person.” He pauses, then looks straight at Merlin. “Do you think she's single?” Merlin replies with a one-shouldered shrug, and Arthur sighs. “Of course she's not. Why would she be single?”

“Maybe because she's fairly new in town and hasn't gotten to meet a lot of people yet?” Merlin answers.

“Really?” Arthur thinks back. _Well, she's only been coming here for about a month…_

“Yes, really. Look, I don't want to be impolite, but some of us have actual work to do,” Merlin says, standing. “What, exactly, did you want me to do about this?”

“I don't know,” Arthur admits. “But I needed to tell _someone_ , and since you're my best mate, you won.”

“Yay,” Merlin replies, his voice devoid of enthusiasm. “Look: I'm happy you fancy Guinevere. Really. But you need to get your shit together and _talk_ to her before you turn into a complete nutter.”

Arthur sighs heavily. “I know.”

 

xXx

 

“Come,” Arthur calls, responding to a soft knock on his door the next day. The door clicks open and a large plant walks in.

“I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr. Pendragon, but Mr. Emrys called yesterday and said you wished to have a new plant for your office,” a soft voice speaks from behind the plant, which appears to be some sort of potted palm.

 _Crafty bugger. I don't know whether to kill him or give him a raise._ “Um, yes,” he answers, standing. “Let me help you with that. It looks heavy.” He walks over and tries to take the plant from her hands.

“It's all right,” she answers. “You don't want to risk getting dirt—oh!”

Somehow during Arthur's attempt to relieve Guinevere of her burden, the pot tips and dumps dirt all over his front.

“Oh dear… oh no… I'm so sorry, Mr. Pendragon,” she stammers, clearly upset and embarrassed. She quickly sets the pot down and walks over to where he is bent forward, dirt still falling from his tie. “I…” She trails off when she realizes that Arthur is bent over because he is laughing. Hard.

Arthur sits on the floor, still laughing, though he's not exactly certain why.

“Mr. Pendragon?” Guinevere asks, starting to get a little concerned.

“Arthur,” he corrects, taking his tie off. “Please call me Arthur.” He looks up at her. “I'm sorry.”

“No, it was entirely my fault,” she says, wringing her hands and biting her lower lip.

“No. If I hadn't tried to take it from you, I wouldn't be in this mess now,” he says. He stands and begins unbuttoning his shirt.

Guinevere busies herself trying to scoop up the fallen dirt without further grinding it into the carpet, desperately trying _not_ to watch the young, very attractive head of The Pendragon Corporation undress in front of her. She dumps dirt by the handful back into the pot, hoping the plant will be all right. Then she glances up and sees he has an undershirt on and relaxes a little. When he makes no move to remove his trousers, she feels a lot better. _I wonder if he's a boxers or briefs man. Or boxer briefs? I bet it's boxer briefs. Some kind of expensive brand, too._

Arthur opens a closet door and pulls out a new shirt. “I keep a spare,” he explains. “I may or may not have had a few run-ins with bowls of soup dotting my past,” he adds. When he sees her look up at him, trying not to laugh, he adds, “Soup is for eating, not wearing. Or so I am told.”

She finally laughs, and he smiles. _Her laughter is like music made of sunshine._ He walks over to where she is kneeling on the floor and offers her his hand.

“Oh,” she says, staring at it a moment. Her hands are dirty, but his aren't exactly clean right now either, so she decides it would be rude not to take it. She stands, and when he doesn't release her hand right away, she gives him a questioning look. “Arthur?” she quietly asks.

“Merlin… Mr. Emrys… he had you bring me a plant to force me to talk to you,” he quietly admits. Her brow furrows, and her confused expression is the most adorable thing he has ever seen. “And I went and buggered it all up by trying to help… and only exposed my talent for spilling things.”

She blinks at him a few times, glances down at their still-joined hands, and back up at him. “What… are you saying, Mr. Pen— Arthur? Why did you need a… a ruse to talk to me?”

He sighs, drops her hand and turns away. He takes two steps, then stops. “I'm rather smitten with you, Guinevere,” he admits, still facing away from her. “And I have been… afraid to talk to you.”

“Afraid?” she softly asks, wishing he would turn around and look at her. She's honestly stunned, and wants to see his face to see if he is truly in earnest.

“That, and I didn't want you to think that I… had, you know, _expectations_ because I'm the CEO here. I'm not like that,” he finally faces her again, but comes no closer. “I would love to take you to dinner. But don't feel obligated to say yes. You can say no without any repercussions. I promise your contract with us will remain for as long as you wish. I'll put it in writing if necess—”

“Yes,” she answers.

“What?”

“I'd love to go to dinner with you,” she clarifies.

He takes one step towards her. “You would?”

“Yes,” she breathes, giving him a shy smile. “And I know you're not like that,” she quietly adds. “I… I tend the plants in several offices, and you are by far the… most decent, understanding, kindest CEO I've met.”

“I am?” he asks, taking another step forward.

“And the… the handsomest,” she adds, biting her lower lip and looking away, her cheeks flaming. _Why did I say that?_

“You're beautiful when you blush,” he softly says, right in front of her again. “Well, you're always beautiful, but…”

She peeks up at him and her shy smile turns into a grin. “You're blushing, too,” she points out.

“Probably,” he answers, not even caring. She said “yes”. That's all that matters right now. “Saturday?”

“Let me give you my number,” she says, smiling brightly at him.


	5. Bus Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Guinevere meet at a bus stop. Inspired by the song "Bus Stop" by the Hollies. Rated T.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each section corresponds to a verse of the song.

It's raining. Again. I've gotten into the habit of carrying my umbrella with me constantly this summer it's been so wet. I glance at my watch and sigh, just having missed the previous bus. That means nine minutes. Nine minutes of standing here in the damp. But at least it's not dripping on my head.

A young woman walks quickly up, holding a newspaper over her head of dark curls. She's cute. I risk another glance. Very cute. Should I? She's getting soaked. Gathering up my courage, I walk the three steps to her and say, "Please, share my umbrella."

"Thank you," she says, stepping in close. She glances at her newspaper. Ruined. She sighs, and tosses it in the bin nearby.

She is close enough that I can smell her. And she smells good. "I'm Arthur," I tell her. She looks up at me and smiles. Her eyes, beautiful almond-shaped eyes of translucent brown, like a warm cup of honeyed tea, catch mine for a moment. My heart stutters.

"Guinevere. But most people call me Gwen," she says, offering me her hand to shake. I'm holding the umbrella with my right hand, so I awkwardly shake her right hand with my left. "Guinevere," I repeat. I love how her name feels on my tongue.

"Your hand is cold," I say, looking for an excuse to hold onto it. I don't want to let go. I don't know why.

"Yours isn't," she says, looking down at our joined hands, one tan, one pink. Is she breathing heavier? Suddenly embarrassed by my behavior, I release her hand.

"Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be." She looks shyly up at me again. She smiles, and I forget to breathe.

xXx

"This is really very kind of you," she says.

"No trouble. Are you staying dry enough?" I ask, inching slightly closer to her. She doesn't back away. In fact, she inches closer herself.

"I am, but I think that man," she points to an older man hunched in a trench coat, "may be less than thrilled with you right about now."

"There's not enough room under here for three," I say, and she laughs with me. Her laughter is like music.

I glance at my watch again. Suddenly the bus can take its time. Five more minutes.

"Do you live around here?" she asks, transferring her laptop bag to her other shoulder.

"Yes, just a few blocks that way," I point to the left with my thumb. "You?"

"A few blocks _that_ way," she smiles again, and points to the right with her thumb. "I take this bus every morning. I've never seen you before."

"I usually catch the one before this one, but I was running a little behind this morning. And if the weather is nice, I bike to work."

Did she just check me out? Yes, I think she did.

"Do you work in the city?" I ask, and as she turns her head back toward me I am distracted by her scent again.

"Yes, at the hospital. I'm an orthopedic surgeon."

Wow. A doctor. "Well that explains the cold hands," I say.

"How's that?"

"Don't doctors always have cold hands?" I grin devilishly down at her, enjoying waiting for the bus more than I ever have. She laughs again.

"So what do you do with your warm hands?" she asks me. I raise an eyebrow at her, knowing what she meant but not willing to let it pass.

"Oh! Um… that didn't come out right, did it? What I meant was…" she stammers, blushing most attractively.

"I know what you meant, but it was too good," I laugh. "I am also in the health care field. Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"You know Dragon Fitness? That's my health club."

"Yours as in you go there or you work there?"

"Um, I own it." I promise I'm not bragging. Honest, I'm not.

"That's a very popular gym," she says, sounding impressed.

"We're having a good year, yes. And hey, now I know exactly who to go see if I blow out my knee one day."

The bus arrives. She looks at it, and hesitates. I scowl at the bus, as if it is interrupting us intentionally. I look down at her, and she looks up at me.

"I can wait for the next one," I say softly, hoping.

"Me, too," she says, and my heart leaps. I give a wave to the ever-impatient bus driver. _Move along._ Did she just come a little closer?

We did take the next bus, and sat together until her stop, where we were forced to part. I looked for her on the ride home. When the bus stopped by the hospital, I almost got off to go find her.

But I didn't want to look like a stalker. I'll have to make sure to run a little late again tomorrow morning.

xXx

I'm very careful to make it to the bus stop at the same time as yesterday. It's not raining today, but I've got my umbrella nevertheless. Because it might.

I wait, trying to appear casual. Trying not to look like I'm looking for her, even though I am.

I am just about to despair when she appears. She glances at me shyly, smiling. I smile back, and I realize that my mind is blank. I don't know what to do. I don't want to appear over-eager, but I don't want her to think I'm not interested.

So I open my umbrella over my head, and look her way. She bites back a smile as I raise my eyebrows in invitation.

"Hi," she says, slipping her hand into mine. It's still cold but it feels so good. I am very glad that I thought to hold the umbrella in my other hand.

"Your hand is still cold," I grin, my stomach flipping happily.

"And yours is still warm," she says, and I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb. Her skin is unbelievably soft and her hand fits in mine perfectly.

xXx

"What time do you go home?" I finally ask the next week. Somehow the umbrella gives us a feeling of privacy, intimacy on the busy street corner.

"It varies," she says.

"Okay. What time are you going to be going home… today?" More specific, then.

"My last appointment is at four. So I would guess around five. What time are you done work?"

"Whenever I feel like going home. Today feels like… around five."

"Maybe you'll see me on the bus home."

"I'd like that very much."

"Maybe you'll… decide to walk a different way home… accidentally turn the opposite direction…" her voice is quiet, as if she's not sure how I'll react to what she's suggesting.

"Like, go _that_ way," I point my thumb towards her home, "instead of _that_ way?" I point my thumb back to the left.

She looks up at me through her lashes, biting her lower lip. She nods. "Maybe we could stop and pick up dinner on the way," she suggests shyly.

Yes. Yes. This wasn't how I was envisioning this conversation, but _yes._ In my mind, _I_ was going to ask _her_ to dinner, but I'll take this.

On impulse, I lean down and kiss her once, gently, lingering on her lips, savoring their taste. "Sounds wonderful."

xXx

"What have you got there?" She has a shopping bag along with her laptop today.

"I've been out early, shopping," she says, coming to stand beneath my umbrella. It is actually drizzling a little today, so we don't look that odd for a change.

"What did you buy?" I crane my neck to try and peer into the bag, and she laughs.

"Really exciting things." She digs into the bag. "Some Tylenol," she shows me the bottle and drops it back inside.

"Ooo."

"A nail file for my office. I keep breaking nails and then I get a ragged edge, which tears through the gloves, and…"

"Got it. It's not for vanity, but necessity. And safety."

"Right. Let's see. Ooo, dental floss," she flashes the small parcel briefly, then, "and some socks," she shows me a brief glimpse of a pair of white cotton athletic socks.

"You are a wild woman," I tease.

"And… aha, Post-it notes, and, oh… never mind," she says, hurriedly closing the bag back up and putting it back on her shoulder.

"What?" Now I'm intrigued.

"Nothing you need be concerned with."

"Oh, now I'm _really_ curious." And I am. Perhaps I shouldn't be. Who knows, it could be something horrifying, like tampons or hemorrhoid cream, or…

"Just… nothing. Nope, nothing else purchased by me this morning."

"Guinevere…" I cajole, drawing her name out.

She looks at me, surprised and… aroused? Did I do that? Just by saying her name?

"I bought a new pair of knickers," she admits, blushing. "But I am _not_ taking them out of this bag to show you."

Perhaps I'll get to see them another time…

"I notice you didn't buy yourself an umbrella," I say casually, choosing to change the subject before I drive myself mad with my own imagination.

"Why on earth would I do that?"

xXx

"That woman keeps giving us strange looks," Gwen whispers to me, giggling into my shoulder.

"Well, we are standing under an umbrella and it's not raining. Or even particularly sunny." I put my arm around her shoulders, and she leans into my side. I kiss the top of her head and smile into her hair.

I love her. I know this now. I probably knew it from the moment I looked into those eyes of hers.

"Will you come over tonight?" I ask her.

"Yes." She leans up and grants me a kiss. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the old woman that Gwen pointed out earlier smile in spite of herself.

xXx

We walk to the bus stop together some mornings, either from her flat or mine, depending on which direction we've chosen to walk home the previous night. Not every morning, as our evening schedules don't always coincide.

But I try. Every day I try. I always look for her on my way home. Some of the other regular passengers watch me, knowing that I'm looking for her. I don't care if they think me a silly, lovesick fool; a lost puppy looking for his mistress. Each moment I can spend with her is worth all the odd looks and whispers we get standing at the bus stop under an unnecessary umbrella.

xXx

"I've been shopping," I tell her one morning. It is a bright sunny morning, and still we stand under my umbrella.

"Oh? New y-fronts for you?" she teases.

"No, I haven't been shopping for underwear." I laugh, but I'm nervous.

"What, then?" she asks. "I don't see a shopping bag…" she peeks around me, looking.

"Hold this, please," I hand her the umbrella and lower myself down on one knee before her. She gasps.

"Guinevere, that rainy day I was running late was the best day of my life, because it was the day I met you. I love you more than I can say. I simply don't have the words. Will you make today and every day the best day of my life by saying yes?" I pull a small black velvet box from my pocket and open it for her. "Will you marry me, Guinevere?"

By now we have an audience. There are three other people waiting for the bus with us, and passers-by are also staring. Cars slow as they drive past. I'm making a spectacle of myself and I don't care.

Gwen drops the umbrella and tackles me, throwing her arms around my neck. I lose my balance and land on my bum on the concrete, but I don't feel it because all I feel is her arms around me and all I hear is her voice as it whispers, "Yes, Arthur, yes!" again and again in my ear.

I laugh with joy and wrap my arms around her holding her to me, sitting on the sidewalk like a fool. Vaguely I realize people are applauding, and Gwen pulls away, blushing furiously, but smiling widely. I take the ring out of the box and slide it onto her finger.

She leans over and kisses me, and I feel happier than I can remember. I pull her into my arms again, deepening the kiss, aware of nothing but her as the bus drives off without us once again.

The umbrella tumbles down the sidewalk, pushed by the wind, forgotten for the moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song can be found here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DZEoKqjfvkw


	6. The Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Gwen are ballroom dancing students, paired together for a challenge. Rated M.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is my husband's fault.

"All right, children," Mr. Gaius says as he snaps off the music. At his words, the bodies on the floor gradually wind to a halt.

He calls them 'children,' a term of endearment actually, as they are all in their twenties. But to 70-year-old Mr. Gaius, they are indeed little more than children.

"I have an assignment for you all," he continues, and most of the dancers stifle their groans.

"Assignment? I didn't think this was that kind of class!" Gwaine remarks from his place where he is lounging on the floor.

Mr. Gaius fixes him in his squinty stare and says, "Challenge, then. Is that better?"

"Proceed," Gwaine says with a wave of his hand.

"Thank you. You will see here I have three hats," he motions at three bowler hats upended on the sideboard next to him. "One hat contains the names of all the girls, the next, all the boys. The third contains—"

"Dance styles," Arthur's voice pipes up from the back of the room, where he is perched regally on the windowsill.

"Indeed. I will draw the first girl's name, and she will then step forward to draw a partner and a dance. You will have one week to choreograph and rehearse before presenting your dance to the rest of the class."

This time the class does not bother stifling their groans.

"Look, do you lot want to be professionals or not?" he says sternly, but his twinkling eyes give him away, as they always do. He loves them and they know it. Luckily they all respect him far too much to truly give him any grief. "Thought so. Now," he reaches into the first hat.

"Elana," he announces, and the blonde jumps up and walks over. She reaches into the second hat.

"Lancelot," she says, trying to hide her disappointment.

 _She was hoping for Arthur,_ Gwen thinks, leaning quietly against a bookcase off to one side, alone. She pretends not to see the look of longing that Lancelot gives her across the room.

"Very good," Mr. Gaius says as she reaches into the third hat.

"Cha-cha," she announces with a smile. She deposits the papers into a nearby bin and goes to stand beside her partner.

"Excellent luck for our resident Latin lover," Mr. Gaius winks, and Lancelot, who is of Chilean descent, nods back.

"Morgana," Mr. Gaius draws the next name.

"Ooo…" the other dancers chorus, their foreboding tone teasing the brunette as she swings her hips past them to draw her—

 _Victim,_ Arthur thinks.

—partner.

"Merlin," she says, her voice not hiding her surprise.

Arthur snorts audibly. Merlin is Mr. Gaius' grand-nephew and Arthur's best friend. He is a sweet soul, kind and generous, while Morgana, Arthur's half-sister, has justifiably earned the nickname "The Black Widow."

"Interesting," Mr. Gaius remarks with a smirk.

Morgana sighs and draws from the third hat.

"Tango."

Arthur glances over at Merlin, whose eyes have grown huge and skin has paled even further. He grins at his friend evilly and Merlin responds with a rude hand gesture.

" _Very_ interesting," Mr. Gaius says dubiously.

 _Merlin and Morgana dancing the Tango of all things. One of the most male-dominant dances, where the man is often quite literally throwing his partner around the floor, all bravado and confidence. I_ rock _the Tango. Not so sure about Merlin, though, especially with Morgana as his partner,_ Arthur thinks as he watches Morgana sidle up to Merlin, where she leans against the table beside him and drapes her arm languidly around his shoulders. _They do make a stunning pair, though, all pale skin and dark hair._

"Guinevere," Gaius chooses the next name, and Gwen walks forward.

_My choices are down to Gwaine, Arthur and Leon. Please let it be Leon. I'd rather deal with the ridiculous height difference than either Mr. Grabby Hands or Mr. High-and-Mighty._

She reaches into the hat.

"Arthur." _Great._

_Oh good. I get the girl who doesn't talk._

Gwen pulls from the third hat, and stares at the slip of paper in her palm, willing the word on the paper to change. _Anything but this one, please._

"Rumba," she squeaks. _Shit._

Now it is Merlin's turn to break forth with the derisive snort. _Arthur is the king of the Viennese Waltz, which allows him to be cold and detached. No one Tangos like him, and his Paso Doble impresses even the most patriotic Latinos. Arthur has bravado to spare. But the Rumba? The seductive, emotional, romantic,_ vulnerable _dance often likened to making love on the dance floor? Hardly his forte._

Instead of going to stand next to her partner as the others have done, Gwen returns to her place by the bookcase without so much as glancing in Arthur's direction. She ignores the dirty look she gets from Vivian.

Arthur blinks in surprise, watching her. _She's so strange._ He's danced with her a few times, but she's barely said three words to him. _She's a good dancer. A little short, perhaps, but skilled nevertheless. Cute, but seems to be lacking any personality. And I'm going to have to spend the better part of the week with her. Brilliant._

Gwen leans against the bookcase, contemplating Arthur out of the corner of her eye. _Okay, he's handsome. Of course he is. But he's such a prat. Mister Macho, like he's the king of this studio or something. Sure he can dance, but the Rumba? Does he even have any emotions other than pride?_

"Vivian," Mr. Gaius calls next. Now that her prime choice has been stolen from her, she takes her time sauntering to the hat to draw her partner.

"Gwaine," she says pleasantly. _He'll do._ She reaches her hand into the third hat.

"Samba!" she exclaims and skips back over to Gwaine, squealing girlishly as he pulls her onto his lap.

Several sets of eyes roll.

"That leaves Leon and Sophia, then," Mr. Gaius declares. "Sophia?"

She stands and chooses their dance.

"Viennese Waltz," she says. Leon smiles from his spot on a chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Sophia walks to him and delicately perches on his knee.

"Get to it, then," Mr. Gaius commands.

"What, now?" Gwaine asks.

"You have one week, Gwaine, when were you planning on getting started?"

xXx

The battle of wills begins. Arthur is waiting for Gwen to come to him, and she is having none of it. _He's not going to bully me._ She slowly turns her face in his direction and blinks at him a few times. _Are you coming or not?_

Arthur heaves a sigh and hops down from his windowsill. He trudges to her as if it is a great hardship. The other couples are already discussing song choices or heading for one of the smaller studios to start working out their steps.

They regard each other for a moment.

"So. Rumba, hey?" Arthur finally speaks.

"Yes."

"You any good with the Rumba?"

"Yes." She doesn't ask about Arthur's Rumba. They both know that it is his weakness.

"Good. So. Um…" he doesn't know what to say to her. She is so quiet, so odd to his mind that she renders his brain pretty much useless. He feels like he's alone in a car with a great-aunt that he only sees every five years.

"Come on, then," she says, pulling him by the hand to an adjoining studio. He follows like a disobedient child.

Once alone, she takes a deep breath and decides to address the elephant in the room.

"Look, I know I'm not exactly your first choice, okay? But moping around isn't going to get us anywhere. I'm sorry I'm not as interesting or… as exciting as Vivian, but you're stuck with me, so let's just make the best of it, shall we?"

Arthur stares at her, mouth agape.

"What?"

"That's the most I've heard you say in three years."

"Oh."

"And don't kid yourself about Vivian. I can't stand her," he bends down to tie his shoe.

"Could have fooled me," she says, stretching.

"Well, if we're clearing the air, I should mention that I guess I'm sorry I'm not Lancelot."

"I have no interest in Lancelot. We are friends," she says stubbornly.

"Is that what you call it?"

"Look, Arthur, not that it's any of your business, but I know he's got a bit of a schoolboy crush. But that's it, as far as I'm concerned."

"Well, he sure seems to enjoy dancing with you, that's all I'm saying, Guinevere."

 _Guinevere? No one calls me Guinevere._ "That may be, but… wait, why am I even defending myself to you?" She turns away, raising a leg to a barre on one side and bends low over it, stretching her hamstrings.

 _Not bad,_ Arthur enjoys the view as he starts to loosen up.

xXx

Gwen shakes his arms in hers, trying to loosen them. "You're too tense; loosen up. This is not the Tango." They'd been toying around with steps and choreography for a half hour now and have gotten close to nowhere.

"Oh, she finally speaks again, only to criticize," he rolls his eyes. "You're no more of an expert than I, you know!" he snaps, jerking away.

"Well at least I can express more than two emotions!"

"Oh, really, I only have two emotions, then?"

"If that."

"Pray, tell?"

"Let's see, there's pride, and… is 'spoiled brat' an emotion?"

"No."

"Then I guess I'll go with anger." She crosses her arms and goes to retrieve her water bottle.

"I'm not so sure that pride is an emotion, either," he mutters.

"Prat," she shoots over her shoulder at him.

"Bitch."

"Baby."

"Prude."

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Ass," she counters, unconsciously walking toward him.

"Hermit," he slowly advances as well.

"Jerk."

"Short person."

"That's the best you got?"

"I'm running out of adjectives."

"Dumb blonde."

"Am not!"

"Oh, very clever comeback, that. Is that even your natural color?" she asks, reaching up to lift a handful of hair to check for roots. _When did we get so close together again?_

He grabs her hand and pulls it to one side, and they both realize that they are now both trying not to laugh.

Another battle of wills: who will break first.

"Wait! I think I saw a grey hair!" she says, raising her other hand.

"You did not! It was just light blonde!" He grabs that one, too, and she struggles to get free.

"Let go of me, you caveman!" she says, trying to pull her arms free. His grip is like iron, yet he is somehow not hurting her at all.

"Caveman, am I? Does that mean I get to hit you with a club and drag you around by your hair?" His face cracks just a little, and Gwen redoubles her own efforts not to burst out laughing, and spins, trying to free herself.

"Oh, no you don't," Arthur says, spinning with her. She trips him in the process and they spill to the ground, Gwen landing on top of him.

"Oh!" she exclaims. The hardness of his muscles beneath his clothes registers slightly as she struggles to regain some balance to climb off of him.

"Stop squirming," he says, trying to help her. [ _Oh my God, if she keeps wiggling like this my body is going to get ideas of its own,_ he thinks, eyes drawn to the tantalizing cleavage suddenly right before his face, hips noticing her soft curves as she attempts to sit back and off of him.

"I see you're getting along fine," Mr. Gaius' laughing voice floats towards them from the doorway.

"No, um, we… we fell," Arthur says, finally grasping Gwen's elbow as her knee narrowly misses his groin and he helps her up.

Much to his surprise, she reaches down to give him a hand up as well. Her dusky skin has taken on a pinkish tinge as she stands there, blushing furiously, not meeting his eyes.

"Yes, yes, you 'fell,'" Mr. Gaius repeats, as if he doesn't believe a word of it. Arthur and Gwen can hear the quotation marks around the word "fell" in his voice.

"We did, sir," Gwen says quietly. "We were… fighting, actually."

"I see," he says, arching an eyebrow at them suspiciously. "I trust you'll get your differences worked out in time to impress me next week."

"Yes, sir."

"I haven't told any of the others this, but there will be some visitors here next week that will be looking to be impressed as well," he says cryptically. "Carry on." He sweeps from the studio before they have a chance to ask any further questions.

"Let's take a break," Arthur suggests, walking over to the table to retrieve his water.

"From what, exactly? We haven't gotten anywhere."

He stops midway and looks at her. "What is with you, anyway?"

"Me?" she raises her eyebrows at him in surprise. _I'm not the one with the attitude problem,_ she thinks, sitting down on the floor with her back against the mirror.

"Yes, you. We've been in this same group for three years now and you've barely said a word the entire time to anyone except Mr. Gaius and occasionally Morgana. And now we're stuck together in this 'challenge' thing, and you only speak to criticize or complain," he says, picking up his bottle. He pauses, then grabs hers as well and brings it over, handing it to her before plunking down beside her on the floor.

"Thank you," she says, taking the bottle, pondering it a moment. "And I'm sorry." She takes a drink, then looks down at her lap.

"Me too. I'm not really angry at you," he admits. He finds it bothers him, seeing her deflate like this. _At least when we were fighting she was interesting._

"I know."

"You do?"

She nods.

"So what am I really angry at?" he challenges, raising an eyebrow at her.

"In a nutshell, you're angry because you hate this assignment and everything about it. You hate that you don't have any control over what to do. You hate the Rumba, because it's your weakest dance. You hate that you got me as a partner. And the very fact alone that you hate all these things makes you angry as well."

"Ouch," Arthur says, frowning.

"You asked."

"I didn't expect you to be… to be _right_ about everything. Well, almost everything."

"What part was I wrong about?"

"Getting you as a partner. I don't hate that," he admits, quickly taking a drink of his water again, looking away.

"Thank you. I don't hate having you as a partner, either, honestly."

"Really?"

"Well, I wasn't thrilled when I saw your name, but I'm getting over it," she smiles.

 _She's actually not bad once you get to know her._ "So what's your deal, then?"

"My deal?"

"Yes. How come you never talk?"

"I'm talking now, aren't I?"

"Guinevere, you know what I mean."

 _There he goes again with that 'Guinevere' stuff,_ she thinks, telling herself that she doesn't like it.

"I'm shy," she says simply.

"Shy? But… you're a dancer…"

"I know. Dumb, right?"

"A little."

"My mum signed me up when I was a kid. She thought it would help bring me out of my shell."

"Did it help?"

"A little," she looks down and picks at the label of her water bottle. "I still can't talk to people."

"I'm a people. A person," he says, and she chuckles.

"One on one I'm sort of okay. Once I get comfortable. But in a group, well, you know." She still doesn't look at him. He can sense she is still uneasy. _I wonder if landing on me unsettled her, too?_

"Yes. But," he hesitates, unsure if he should say it. "I've seen you dance. In front of people. You seem fine. You're… very good, actually."

"I pretend that I'm alone. It's easier when the audience is all people I don't know, too. They don't know me, I don't know them; I'll never see any of them again."

 _That sounds very lonely,_ he thinks, but says nothing. He takes another drink of his water, peeking at her as he does so, watching her fidget with the hem of the flannel shirt she has on over her leotard.

"All right, enough break," he stands, and holds his hand down for her. "Let's try to get something accomplished before Big G comes back in to yell at us some more."

xXx

Another hour and a half later, they've made decent progress. Gwen is getting more comfortable with Arthur, and now that they understand one another, the bickering has slowed. They even laugh a few times.

"Goodness, is it that late already?" Gwen says, looking at the clock. It is past ten p.m. "We must be the only ones still here."

"Probably," Arthur says, stretching his arms up over his head with a groan, which is immediately followed by a yawn.

"Well, that settles it, then: we're done for tonight."

"Yeah," he agrees, picking up his now-empty bottle as Guinevere puts her flannel back on over her leotard.

 _Pity,_ Arthur finds himself thinking as she covers herself in the shapeless garment. _Where did that come from?_ He quickly turns and strides to the door, holding it open for her before switching the lights out and following her out into the main studio area.

"About time," Mr. Gaius' voice drifts out of nowhere. Gwen jumps in surprise and bumps into Arthur, who instinctively grabs her.

"We thought everyone was gone," Arthur says, chuckling. He sees Mr. Gaius sitting behind a desk, a small lamp the only illumination.

"I practically live here. Go home, you two," he says with a smile. He was secretly pleased that Gwen had drawn Arthur's name. Out of all the dancers there, they have the greatest potential, and he can already see the chemistry building between them. _He'll draw her out, she'll pull him back. Balance._

"See you tomorrow," Gwen says, pulling her purse and flip flops from her locker while Arthur changes his shoes as well.

"You don't have to wait for me," she says, noticing Arthur is standing nearby.

"It's late, I'll walk you out."

 _Really?_ "Okay." She grabs her jacket and they head out.

"Where's your car?"

"At my flat. I walked."

He stops. "You are not walking home, alone, this late. I'll drop you off."

"That's really not necessary, Arthur, I'll be fine."

"Guinevere, it's 10:30, it's pitch black, and it's cold out. And you are wearing flip flops, what on earth is _wrong_ with you?"

"The cold feels good on my feet. You try wearing three-inch heels sometime, hot shot."

"Come on," he grabs her hand and pulls her towards his car.

xXx

"Wonderful Tonight," Gwen suggests.

"Meh. Um… Open Arms," Arthur counters. They agreed to arrive early next day to peruse Mr. Gaius' CD collection to find some music.

"I am so over Journey. Someone Like You."

"Van Morrison or Adele?"

"Arthur, can one Rumba to Van Morrison's Someone Like You?"

"Point taken. I am so over Adele," he rolls his eyes.

"Fine. What have you got?"

"Um, Unchained Melody?"

"Cliché. Endless Love."

"I can never hear that song without thinking of the movie _Happy Gilmore._ "

"Haven't seen it," she says, flipping through more discs.

"You should. Hilarious. Ah. Never Tear Us Apart."

"INXS? Hmm."

"Great tune…" he sells it, waving the disc at her.

"Maybe. Keep it out. My Heart Will Go On?"

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just suggest that. Hero."

"Enrique or Mariah?"

"Oo, first name basis, are we? Enrique, naturally."

_Naturally. 'Let me be your hero, baby.' Typical of him._

"Eh," she makes a face. "She Will Be Loved."

"No."

"No?"

"No," he repeats, sticking his tongue out. "Let's Get It On."

"Beg pardon?"

"The song. Let's Get It On. Marvin Gaye."

"I'm going to pretend you didn't just suggest that," she laughs, repeating his words back at him.

"Aha. The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face," she holds the disc up and looks at it.

"Huh?"

She shows him the CD. "Roberta Flack, 1972? Great tune. It's perfect. Perfect for the Rumba. It's romantic, sexy, emotional, it has everything." She sets it aside, noting that he doesn't look convinced.

"Every Breath You Take," he suggests.

"Oo, love Sting, but that's a trifle fast, I think. She's Got a Way."

"Possible. A little one-sided though, isn't it?"

"What, and Hero isn't? Fine." She puts it back, looks at her watch, and sighs. "Okay, grab INXS, I'll bring Roberta. Let's go into the other studio and listen."

She stands and leads the way to the studio they were in the previous night, and walks to the stereo.

"See, it could totally work," Arthur says as they listen to his selection.

"It's a little fast," she says. Her eyes are closed as she listens, and Arthur finds his eyes continually drawn to her. He peels them away again to pay attention to the song.

"Maybe." He tries closing his own eyes, the way she is, to really listen. _I can see us dancing to this song; spinning, floating, my hands on her body as I hold her, lift her, dip her. She clings to me, then sweeps away, before returning to my embrace…_

The song ends. "Arthur, are you awake?"

"Hmm? Yes. I think we should dance to that one," he croaks, blinking a few times to

shake the surprisingly stirring images from his brain. He clears his throat and quickly raises his water bottle to his lips.

"Well, let's be fair, you have to listen to my choice as well." She changes the disc and the song begins.

"There's nothing to this song," Arthur complains just after it begins. _There's hardly any accompaniment, and what's there is so soft I can barely hear it._

"Shut up and listen. Listen to the words," she says, sitting beside him now. She closes her eyes again.

His eyes drift to her face again, and this time he lets them linger. _She really is lovely. Different. Not classically beautiful like Vivian or even Morgana. Yet… there's a quality there. There is something more to her, deeper._ His eyes drift down. _She has amazing lips._ He realizes his hand is lifting, fingers itching to touch those lush lips of hers, and he quickly withdraws it. Then those lips part slightly and she takes a deep breath followed by a long sigh.

He shuts his eyes quickly then, and listens obediently. _Not a bad song, actually. Sensual. Longing. Plaintive._ The images of them dancing return to his brain. _She drifts into my arms and I hold her like I never want to let go. Yet I turn away, and she follows, beckoning me back. Her hands caress my face, my neck, run down my chest before she twirls away, skimming along the floor gracefully, only this time I give chase, pulling her back. She winds a leg around mine and suddenly my lips are brushing softly against hers, her hands are in my hair, and we sink down, down as I claim her lips with mine, willing them apart as my hands mold to her curves, her body writhing beneath me…_

Something warm and soft touches his hand, and Arthur's eyes fly open. He looks down to see her small hand searching for his, fingers twining with his once found. Only then does he realize how rapid his breathing has become.

_Mother of God._

The song ends and Arthur is silent, confused by his own emotions.

"Well?" she asks softly, releasing his hand, embarrassed, as if she didn't realize she had taken it.

 _What the heck can I say? That the song made me want to rip your clothes off?_ "It's good. Really good. A little…"

"What?"

"I don't know. Girly?"

She exhales sharply, frustrated with him. She scowls, thinking. "Wait." Suddenly her face brightens, and she picks up her mobile, searching for something.

"What are you doing?" he asks, leaning over to look.

"Looking for something my brother sent a few weeks ago."

"Huh?"

"Bugger." She gives up looking and dials instead.

"Hey, El. No, nothing's wrong, I need a favor. A small one."

"You remember that MP3 you sent me a while back? The one you thought I'd hate?"

"Yes. Can you send it again?"

" _Yes,_ now. Please."

"Thanks."

She hangs up the phone and waits.

"Does your brother regularly send you MP3s?" Arthur asks.

"Yeah, he works in the recording industry. He wants to move to LA and become a record producer."

Arthur raises his eyebrows. "Good luck with that."

"I know, right?" Her phone buzzes. "Aha. Thank you, Elyan."

"What did he send?" Arthur leans in again.

 _Wow, he smells really good. Wait, shut up._ "You said the song was too girly. Well, how about this version?" She pokes the phone and the song starts again, this time by a different artist.

"Is that…?" Arthur asks.

"Johnny Cash. Can't get much manlier than him, Arthur."

They listen again, and this time Arthur decides to keep his eyes open. Gwen shuts hers again.

 _It's so sad, this version. The longing laid bare in his ragged old voice. I can completely see us dancing to this version,_ she thinks. _We sway together, his arms, his strong arms holding my hips as I lean back, extending before he draws me back in, lifting me. I land and spin around him, my arms on his shoulders, clinging, dragging my feet on the floor as he runs forward before turning toward me again, my leg kicks high and he catches it, sliding along its length, wrapping it around his waist before spinning me away. I glide back into his embrace, and his hands cup my face, his blue eyes looking deeply into mine before he drops his head, kissing me. I melt into his arms as he leans into me, my arms sliding up around his neck, fingers in his hair as we fall to the floor – no, the bed, soft and inviting, his hands skimming to touch…_

Gwen's eyes open wide, just before the song ends. Her cheeks are warm and she knows she's blushing. Luckily Arthur isn't looking at her, so she quickly grabs her water, drinks some and then pours just a little into her hands, which she then pats on her neck and cheeks. _Where did those thoughts come from?_

"Yes," Arthur says quietly. "We should do this song. _This_ version."

Gwen takes a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. "Good," she says simply.

"It's so… _raw,_ " he says, still shaken by his own thoughts.

"Not working yet?" Mr. Gaius says, striding into the room.

"Ah, but we are, G. We've just chosen our song," Arthur says, standing. He automatically lowers his hand for Gwen, and she takes it and stands.

"Very good," he says.

"Hard part's over," Gwen says.

"Yes, now all you have to do is _everything else,_ " Mr. Gaius laughs. "But I know I don't have to worry about you two. Merlin and Morgana, however…"

"That's an interesting pairing if ever there was. Is she trying to convince him that she should lead and he should wear the dress?" Arthur asks.

"No, though it wouldn't surprise me," he laughs again. "All right, enough chit-chat. Get to work."

"Slave driver," Gwen says.

"I heard that," Mr. Gaius calls back, and Gwen laughs.

"Cheeky, Guinevere!" Arthur says.

She blushes and slaps her hands over her mouth.

Arthur laughs. "I meant that as a compliment. You're far too serious."

xXx

"Ah, actually dancing, what a novel idea," Mr. Gaius says, walking into the studio to find Guinevere in Arthur's arms in the middle of the floor. The two dancers separate, grinning sheepishly.

"Thought we'd give it a whirl," Arthur says.

"Let me see what you've got," Mr. Gaius says, leaning on his cane.

Gwen picks up the remote for the stereo and switches on the music.

"Nice choice," their instructor comments.

He watches. _Flawless technique, of course. Arthur is stiff, as I expected, but he's trying. She's being very patient with him, however, and it's holding her back. She's even more reserved than she usually is._

Three-quarters of the way through, they stop dancing. "That's as far as we've gotten," Gwen says, turning the song off once again.

"Good start. Your technique is perfect, as I expected," he says, fixing them in his squinty stare, and they know what's coming.

"But?" Arthur supplies.

" _But,_ it's lacking something. It's lacking feeling. Longing…"

"Romance," Gwen adds quietly.

"Exactly." He points with his cane.

"The audience needs to _feel_ it. If they're not breathing heavily and pulling at their collars by the time you finish, you haven't done your job. You need to make _love_ to her, Arthur. On the dance floor. With your clothes on."

"Um… okay," Arthur says slowly. _I know that. I do. But it scares me, and I can't admit that. Not to him; not to Guinevere._

"Less perfection, more porn," he announces, waving his free hand in the air as he turns to leave the room.

"Well, then," Arthur says, looking at his shoes.

"Yeah."

"Um… shall we try again?"

"Yes." She switches the music on, and they begin again.

There's not much improvement. Gwen drops Arthur's hands and spins away in frustration.

"Honestly, Arthur, if that's how you make love, it's no wonder you're still single!"

"Hey, I'll have you know I've never had any complaints about my skills in the bedroom!" _Well, okay, there was that one time…_

"It's not your skills that I'm questioning, Arthur; it's the emotions driving them!"

"Well, you know I only have two, you said so yourself!" he shoots back, turning away.

She raises an eyebrow at him. "Arthur," she says, no longer shouting. "You have to think _romance,_ not a quick hard shag followed by you sneaking out of her flat before she wakes."

Arthur's mouth opens to retort, then closes sharply. _That was a little too close to home._ He walks away to wipe his forehead with a towel and take a drink of water.

"What are you afraid of, Arthur?" she asks, her voice barely audible.

He doesn't answer, and she walks over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. He shrugs it away. _She is far too smart._

"Arthur," she repeats, stepping closer again.

"I'm not afraid of anything," he says, and she touches his elbow, gently.

"Maybe that's your problem. Maybe you should be a little more afraid."

He turns and looks at her.

"And maybe I should be a little less afraid," she admits, looking down.

He lifts his hand to her chin, raising her face to look at him. Succumbing to temptation, he strokes her lower lip gently with his thumb, bringing forth a small gasp from her.

xXx

Arthur rushes into the studio, irritated by a traffic accident that was in his way en route.

"You're late," Mr. Gaius warns over the tops of his reading glasses.

"I know, she's going to kill me," he says as he hurries past.

He reaches the door to what he now things of as _their_ studio, and can hear the music playing on the other side. _She started without me?_

He quietly pushes the door open and steps in.

She is indeed dancing without him. And she looks amazing. Not wanting to disturb her, Arthur closes the door soundlessly and walks slowly forward, transfixed. He watches the long, lean lines of her body, graceful limbs strong and muscular yet undeniably feminine.

 _She is beautiful. These are the images that have been haunting my dreams every night._ His mouth goes dry.

He comes closer, hardly daring to breathe, watching her twirl and sweep, graceful as a swan, effortless, entrancing, vulnerable.

Sexy.

 _Dear God, I want her. So badly. But… it's more than that. I want to hold her, protect her,_ love _her as well as make love_ to _her._

He is almost upon her, and she spins around, right into his arms. She jumps slightly, and he joins the dance.

"Don't stop," he mutters, gazing down at her. _Did her knees just give way a little?_

They continue, incorporating the things they've already worked out with some new moves, and Arthur finds he's not paying as much attention to the steps and the motions as he is to Guinevere and the music.

 _Who is this Arthur?_ Gwen wonders, swept away with him as he leads her effortlessly, seductively, pulling her gently with him, keeping her from retreating back inside her protective shell.

The song ends with Arthur and Gwen on their knees on the floor, locked in an embrace, Arthur's hands framing her face as she looks up at him, her hands on his chest.

 _That's it. I've died,_ Gwen thinks as his eyes bore into hers with a passion that he didn't know he had. She can read the desire on his face and it frightens her. _But I can't… no, I don't want to back away._

"Guinevere," he whispers, just before dropping his head, touching his lips to hers once, softly, almost caressing her lips with his own.

When her fingers curl into his shirt, gripping the material there, he descends again, hungrier, longer, but still gentle, as if she were a rabbit that he doesn't want to frighten away.

Mr. Gaius quietly closes the door behind him, smiling as he walks to the next studio.

xXx

"Guinevere, relax," Arthur says, holding her shoulders gently. She just slipped, again, and almost stepped on Arthur's foot. Again.

"It's tomorrow, I can't," she says, sitting down on the floor, the practice skirt she's wearing pooling around her. "I think I'm coming down with something. I won't be able to dance tomorrow because I'll be home throwing up." She holds her stomach; raises her hand to her forehead to check her temperature.

Arthur sits beside her and puts his arm around her shoulders, pulling her over to lean against him. "No, you won't. You'll be here, with me, dancing your little heart out, and we'll impress the socks off of the class and whatever mystery guests G will be dangling in front of us," he says, kissing the top of her head.

"No, I am completely going to vomit, humiliating myself, and no one will ever want to see me dance again and I'll be forced to go… go work at the Post Office or wherever it is that weirdo hermit-types generally work." She picks at her skirt, close to tears.

"What happened to pretending you are alone?"

"This is different. This is for the rest of the group. Our friends. Well, more your friends than mine…"

"How is that different?"

"Because I _know_ them and they kind of know me."

"Why is that a bad thing?"

"Because… because if I do poorly I could never look them in the eye again. If I do well they'll think I'm just some stuck-up bitch who thinks she's too good to talk to them."

"You're being ridiculous."

"Thank you, very supportive."

"What I mean is that's not going to happen. Guinevere, before last week, I didn't really know you. But I never thought anything awful about you. I thought you were a little odd, yes, but that was based largely on the fact that you were so quiet. All I knew was that you were an excellent dancer. Let them get to know you. Let this be the start of that."

Gwen chews at her lip, brows furrowed. "I don't know if I can," she finally says.

"I'll help you."

"Really?"

He nods.

She considers it a moment. He thinks he's gotten through, but then she crumples again, leaning forward, burying her face in her skirt, curling herself into a little ball.

"I may as well find myself a nice cave in the woods somewhere and start talking to squirrels."

 _She's lost it now._ He takes her by the shoulders, sitting her back up. "What are you so worried about, really?"

"That… that they'll laugh at me. Or worse, think me foolish," she whispers.

Arthur scoots around in front of her and pulls her into his arms. "Shh, I won't let that happen," he says softly.

"And how exactly are you going to accomplish that?" she asks into his shoulder.

"I'll be right there with you. You can… borrow some of my confidence. I've got plenty to spare, you know," he tries joking, trying to get her to smile again. "They'll love you, Guinevere, all of them. You have nothing to worry about," he adds, looking down at her and gently resting his hand on her cheek. He looks down into her soft brown eyes and strokes her cheek gently.

"Stop, Arthur," she says, pulling away from him. _He is too sweet, too warm, too irresistible._

"Stop what?" he asks. "I was trying to help, you know."

"Stop talking to me like that; touching me like that."

"Like what?" he asks, also getting upset now

"Like… like you love me." She scoots away and looks at her hands in her lap.

"Guinevere…"

"And stop saying my name like that! Do you _know_ what it does to my insides when you do that?" A tear escapes and rolls down her cheek.

"But don't you see that I _do_ love you?" he says, moving closer to her again.

"No, you don't," she says. "You just think you do."

"I know I do."

"No. It's this dance. You've gotten so embroiled in _pretending_ that you love me that you've convinced yourself that you actually do."

"Don't presume to tell me how I feel, Gwen."

"Well, that's what this is." _I wish it wasn't._

"I beg to differ," he says, scooting closer still. He reaches up and wipes the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs. She stares at him, lips parted, the heat from his hands scorching her skin.

"Does this," he caresses her face with his palm, and her head turns into it unconsciously, "feel like make-believe? Does this," he leans forward and places a lingering kiss on her lips, causing her eyes to flutter closed and her insides to melt like butter, "feel pretend?"

"No," she admits, breathing the word against his lips, hovering so close. "But…"

"No buts," he says and kisses her again, and this time his tongue slides forward to tease at her lips, asking for entrance.

Guinevere almost succumbs, then pulls away suddenly, breathing heavily, cheeks flushed.

"You don't even know me," she says. _Why are you still arguing with him?_ She bites her lower lip anxiously.

"Oh, but I do, Guinevere," he says, his voice low and seductive, and she knows he said her name like that on purpose.

"I know that your favorite color is lavender. I know that you always smell like vanilla. I know that for some reason you hide behind your shyness, not letting people see how wonderful you really are. I know that when you are confused, your face gets all pouty and scrunchy in a way that makes you look like you are four years old, and it's adorable. I know you wish you were taller. You like elephants. Your skin feels like satin under my hands. You have the most beautiful lips I have ever seen, and they feel as good as they look. You're the smartest person I've ever met. You wear that ghastly flannel shirt because it belonged to your father. You see right through all my bullshit and call me out on it. And," he says, pulling her into his arms again, "you don't want to admit it, but you love me, too."

He kisses her again, no longer polite and tender, but passionate and hungry, tongue demanding entrance. She whimpers softly in the back of her throat and parts her lips for him, allowing him in, meeting his tongue with her own, kissing him back, her need matching his.

xXx

"I've been keeping a secret from you, children," Mr. Gaius announces on the evening of the challenge.

"You're only 35 years old?" Morgana calls out.

"You're really a woman?" Gwaine guesses. Leon shoves him.

"Tonight's losers get to stone the winners?" Vivian tries. "That's pretty dark, Viv," Gwaine says, laughing.

"All right, all right, settle down. We will be dancing not only for each other this evening, but also for some special guests," he looks back at Arthur and Gwen, who are sitting cozily in Arthur's usual windowsill, and Arthur nods just slightly. _We won't say a word._

"Guests? What kind of guests?" Elana asks. She looks nervous.

"Professional ballroom dancing judges."

There is a collective gasp from the group. Gwen looks at Arthur, her eyes wide, and he wraps his arm around her reassuringly. "Don't worry," he whispers into her ear.

"Yes, yes, I am evil and unfair. But if I had told you any sooner you would have all completely lost it. So. There's nothing you can do now except go and get your attractive backsides dressed so we can start. You have two hours."

The dressing rooms are a flurry of activity. Well, the ladies' dressing room is a flurry of activity. The men have not yet started to dress.

Gwen pulls the dress she is intending to wear from the rack and holds it up.

"Oh, you're not wearing that," Morgana swoops in and plucks it from her hand and hangs it back up decisively.

"What? Hey!" Gwen says, turning.

"Darling, I don't know what spell you've cast over my brother, but whatever it is, it's a good one. Therefore, you need to wear something that is going to not only impress those blasted _judges,_ but also bring Arthur to his knees," she says, taking Gwen's hand and pulling her to a different rack.

She flips through the dresses, the hangers making a metallic scrape as she slides them along the pole. "What is Arthur wearing? Wait, let me guess: White shirt, and… black trousers?"

"Grey," Gwen says, giggling. Arthur is notorious for his white shirts. _He does look incredibly sexy in them,_ she admits to herself. _But then he'd look sexy wearing a potato sack._

"Aha, here we are," Morgana pulls out a revealing dress consisting of a lavender leotard with an open back and asymmetrical neckline with only one strap, and a flowing white skirt with multiple slits to reveal as much leg as possible.

Gwen stares at it. _It is gorgeous and sexy, but can I pull it off? Am I brave enough?_

"Put it on, Gwen, then decide," Morgana thrusts it at her and pushes her towards a cubicle, swinging the curtain closed.

A few minutes later Guinevere's head pokes out from around the curtain, hiding behind it.

"Gwen…" Morgana cajoles, "I'm not coming in there. You have to come out."

Shyly she steps forward, arms crossed in front of her, holding her stomach.

"Put your arms down, girl."

She does, and Morgana smiles broadly. "You look _fabulous,_ Gwen. Did you see yourself in there?" She points to the mirror inside the cubicle. "Did you?"

Gwen nods, and notices Vivian, Sophia and Elana stealing glances at her. She smiles weakly at them.

"You look really good, Gwen," Elana says, stepping over. "Really, you do. You have such a cute figure, and you never show it."

"Thank you," she says, taking a deep breath, her confidence growing.

"Really. I would _kill_ for tits like yours, I really would," Morgana says, grinning. Gwen laughs at this, louder than any of them expected, and she claps her hand over her mouth.

Outside, Arthur's head snaps up. _Was that Guinevere?_

"What, um…" Gwen starts to ask.

"Yes?" Morgana says, trying to draw her out.

"What are you wearing for your dance?"

Morgana smiles, and pulls her over to where her dress is hanging. She holds it aloft. It is all black and all lace and it looks like it will fit her like skin.

"Wow," Gwen says. "You are going to look… dangerous in that."

Morgana holds up a pair of patent leather spike heeled boots and grins. "I know." She sets the boots down. "Now, about your hair…"

xXx

Gwen peeks out of the dressing area. She's supposed to go out and watch. They are dancing in the same order drawn, so that means she and Arthur are third. She scans the room, looking for Arthur. She sees him off to the side, laughing with Merlin. He looks incredible. Flowing white shirt with a deep v-neck, hair artfully tousled, snug light grey trousers outlining his… form quite pleasingly. She keeps her eyes pinned on him until finally Merlin spots her and pokes him, pointing.

He saunters over, walking casually, as if he had no idea how to properly be nervous.

"What's wrong?" he asks, seeing her worried face.

She steps out from behind the door and his jaw drops. "Guinevere, you… you look…" _I've run out of adjectives again._

"I hope it's a good word you're searching for," she says.

He blinks a few times. "Are you even _aware_ of how unbelievably beautiful you are?" His eyes drop to her lips, wanting nothing more than to kiss them, but he knows that before a performance is not the time to be kissing the carefully-applied shimmering lip gloss from those lush lips.

The look on her blushing face tells him that she isn't, and he chuckles and pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her. "I'm not sure I want everyone else to see you, though. I'm feeling greedy."

"Your sister picked this out, you know. And," she leans back to look at him, "I actually tried talking to them. Well, not Vivian. She was too busy giving me dirty looks."

He hugs her again, pleased at her efforts. "I like your hair that way," he says, leading her to the chairs lined up on one side of the dance floor, his hand resting on her lower back.

"Morgana did that, too," she says. Her hair is in loose, soft waves, nothing fancy, but different than the braid or chignon she usually wears.

She walks past Gwaine and he almost drops his water bottle. Arthur snickers. They sit beside Merlin, who is dressed all in black to match his partner, save a red necktie. He actually looks quite dashing, his pale skin and unique angular features highlighted by all the black, and his hair is slicked back away from his face rather than in its normal tousled style.

"You look nice, Merlin," she says, leaning forward to speak to him across Arthur.

"You look beautiful, Gwen," he smiles at her.

"Thank you," she says, then leans back.

Morgana makes her entrance, looking like a dominatrix on a mission as she strides across the floor. Her hair is pulled back into a twist adorned with black roses.

"Where do you find black roses?" Arthur says.

"They're silk, Cabbage Head."

Morgana sits beside Merlin, taking his hand in hers and pulling it into her lap to hold. She leans forward.

"Gwen."

Gwen leans forward and looks at Morgana.

"Well?" Morgana asks.

Guinevere grins and blushes again.

"Excellent." Both ladies sit back as the rest of the group sits and Mr. Gaius enters with the judges.

"Everyone set? Everyone here?" Mr. Gaius surveys his children, and counts ten heads. "Very well. I will introduce our guests before we begin."

He turns. "This is Anne Carlin, from New York. Next is Cedric Fyrien from Los Angeles. Third is our local boy, Terence Helios."

The dancers applaud and the three judges sit.

"First up, we have Lancelot and Elana and their Cha-cha," Mr. Gaius announces, and the lights dim.

Their dance is good, but not great. "They fought a lot," Arthur whispers to Gwen. "He kept yelling at her in Spanish, I guess."

Gwen stifles a giggle. She watches as they twirl and glide gracefully, but the beauty of the dance and the joy of the song is not reflected in their faces. _Technically good; not great, and emotionally lacking._

They finish and bow for their applause, and the best thing Arthur can think to say is, "At least no one fell," which he again whispers to Gwen.

Merlin and Morgana stand to step backstage for a few moments before their dance. Lancelot and Elana come out and sit. Apart from each other.

Mr. Gaius peeks backstage, then comes back out. "Our next couple is Merlin and Morgana, dancing the Tango."

"God help them," Arthur mutters, and Gwen smacks him lightly.

The song begins. They have chosen to go traditional, old-school Tango danced to beautiful minor-key accordion music.

"Oh my God," Arthur whispers. Merlin is not Merlin; Morgana is not Morgana. Merlin is commanding, proud, making demands with which Morgana complies. They have both transformed their personae so completely to match the needs of the dance.

_I have never seen Merlin like this. He's a badass. Hell, I've never seen Morgana like this. Submissive. What on earth must have been going on during those rehearsals?_

Merlin slides Morgana on the floor, spinning her as she clings to him. He dashes her away, movements sharp, precise, almost cruel.

 _Wow,_ Gwen thinks.

The song ends with Merlin standing arrogantly and Morgana on the floor, hanging on to his leg, as if she is begging him not to leave.

The room erupts with applause. Arthur stands and whistles for his best friend and his sister.

Arthur and Gwen cross to go backstage in preparation. They see Merlin and Morgana when they go back.

"Wow, that was _amazing,_ " Gwen says to them.

"Yeah, who are you and what have you done with the real Merlin and Morgana?" Arthur asks, raising an eyebrow at them.

"Thanks, Arthur, break a leg," Merlin says, laughing. He starts to walk out, following Morgana.

Arthur grabs his friend's elbow. "Are you shagging my sister?" he asks quietly.

"Yep."

"Thought so."

Merlin turns and looks at him. "You shagging Gwen?" he counters.

"Not yet," Arthur winks and releases him.

Gwen is fidgeting with her skirt. Arthur takes her hands in his and kisses them both.

"It's just the two of us out there. No one else is in the room, Guinevere. Only us," he says, looking down at her lovely face.

She closes her eyes.

Mr. Gaius peeks in. "Ready?"

Gwen opens her eyes. "Yes."

They go out to the floor, and take their places. They've decided to start the dance apart from one another, Gwen in the center alone, Arthur off to one side.

 _We should start the dance that way,_ Arthur had said once they remembered where they were and what they were supposed to be doing that day. _You start alone, and I come up on you and join you. It'll be very… effective. It was tonight._

The song begins, and Gwen raises one arm languidly over her head, then back down, followed by a graceful spin. She takes a few steps, and as she wraps her arms around herself, evoking the loneliness she is supposed to be conveying, Arthur reaches her just as the vocals start.

They continue, both only aware of each other, lost in each other, dancing almost thoughtlessly they know their steps so well. He lifts her effortlessly, high off her feet, then brings her back down, close, their bodies touching as she slides down his front until they are face to face, foreheads touching. She twirls away and he gives chase, reaching her fingers with his, the smallest touch beckoning her back, back into his arms, where he places his hand on the side of her neck and bends her backward and around in a circular motion until her face is once again tantalizingly close. She lifts her hands to his face and places them on either side, caressing briefly, down to his shoulders and along his arms, pulling back again. He takes one hand and spins her several times before draping her back across his bent leg.

"Look at them," Merlin whispers to Morgana. "I feel like a voyeur."

"I know, it's deliciously naughty, isn't it, my pet?" she whispers back.

"Ugh, that's your brother," he whispers, and she chuckles.

"I love getting a rise out of you," she breathes close in his ear, her tongue flicking out briefly against his earlobe, and he shivers.

"Behave yourself."

The dance finishes as rehearsed, Arthur and Guinevere kneeling together in the center, his hands on either side of her face, gazing lovingly down at her.

"Oh God, I really want to kiss you," Arthur mutters, not moving his lips.

"Don't you dare," Gwen replies.

Then they notice the silence. They break their pose and stand beside each other. Arthur gently takes Gwen's hand.

Finally the room erupts. All their fellow dancers stand, clapping and cheering. Even the judges are standing. They look over at Mr. Gaius and he is beaming proudly at his star pupils.

They make their bows and head backstage.

"I think they were stunned," Arthur says.

"Freaked me the hell out," Gwen says, hopping around, burning off nervous energy.

"Stop jumping!" Arthur laughs, and grabs her, hugging her tightly.

Gwaine and Vivian come backstage.

"Great, thanks, now we have to follow that!" Gwaine complains, smacking Arthur lightly on the back of his head as he passes.

Vivian stomps past Gwen, pointedly not looking at her.

 _I wonder if she realizes that I am completely fine with her ignoring me?_ Gwen wonders.

Gwen and Arthur turn to leave the backstage area to rejoin the audience just as Mr. Gaius looks in on Gwaine and Vivian.

"Ready, children?"

"Yep, just as soon as this chubby I got from watching those two settles down," they hear Gwaine say as they exit. Arthur laughs.

"Was he serious?"

"Could be. Who knows with him?"

Their Samba is actually very good. It is one of Gwaine's strongest dances, him being the showman he is. And Vivian is always happy to shake what the Lord gave her, so their Samba is greeted with riotous applause. It was gleeful and sexy, saucy and naughty, everything a Samba should be.

"Finally, Leon and Sophia and the Waltz."

Gwen has been looking forward to this one. Leon is tall, slender, and quite graceful, which is unusual for one so tall. Sophia is newer to the studio, so Gwen is quite interested to see how she does.

It is a beautiful Waltz, smooth and flowing, they seem to float around the floor. Perfect frame; perfect technique.

Then Sophia's heel gets caught in her skirt and she stumbles. Leon holds tight, and she doesn't fall but she turns bright red.

"Oh no," Gwen whispers, squeezing Arthur's hand.

They recover as gracefully as they can, but the stumble rattles Sophia. Gwen can see Leon squeeze her hand; giving what little emotional support he can during this dance.

They finish and are met with enthusiastic applause, and Leon gives Sophia a large hug, picking her up as he does so. Gwen can see him whispering in her ear, presumably reassuring her.

He sets her down and asks her, "Are you okay?" She nods, and they head to their seats rather than backstage, where he puts his arm around her shoulders.

xXx

A crass sound rouses Gwen from her sleep. _Who the hell is calling me at this hour?_ she thinks, groping for her mobile. _It can't be any later than…_ she looks at the clock. _Oh. Nine a.m._ She sits up slightly, hugging the plush duvet around her chest.

"Hello?" she says, trying not to sound like she just woke up.

"Who's calling you?" a groggy voice complains beside her.

"Yes, this is she. Oh, hello!"

Arthur sits up, rubbing his eyes, looking at Gwen quizzically. "Who is it?" he whispers. She waves a hand at him. _Shut up._

"Yes, Miss Carlin, thank you."

" _Anne_ Carlin?" Arthur mouths the words.

"Well, yes, of course. No, I didn't have any regular partner before, but I am quite content keeping Arthur as a partner, yes."

Arthur grins at this and scoots closer to her warm naked body, cuddling up against her.

"Of course. Well, um, I think _I'm_ interested, but I can't speak for him."

She feels Arthur nod vigorously against her ribcage.

"Um, well, he's actually right here. Would you like to save yourself a second phone call?"

She hands the phone to Arthur, smiling. He kisses her hand and takes her phone, sitting up.

"Hello," he says.

"Yes, Miss Carlin, of course."

"As long as I'm guaranteed that Guinevere will be my partner, yes."

Gwen smiles.

"Thank you very much."

"Great. Two weeks from today?"

"That work for you?" he asks Gwen. "To get the process started?"

She nods. "Yes, that's fine. Great, I'll look for them."

"Thanks very much again. Have a good day."

He hangs up and leans over Guinevere, kissing her thoroughly before pulling back a little, looking into her sleepy brown eyes. He grins at her, saying, "We're going to New York."


	7. The Escort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Princess Guinevere must travel to Camelot to meet the man to whom she is promised, escorted by a strange and intriguing knight. Rated G.

"My lady, he's here."

Four words. Four small words I've been dreading since the day my father told me that he had promised me to King Arthur of Camelot.

"Thank you, I'll be down presently," I say, not turning around. It was rude of me, I know. I usually treat my servants better than this. Hopefully they will forgive my curtness, understanding my reticence to be whisked away by some… escort… to go and be married to a complete stranger.

Couldn't even be bothered to come get me himself. Sends a knight.

May as well get this over with. Heaving a sigh, I turn and sweep from my beloved chambers, not looking back.

No point, really.

I enter the hall to find my father, King Leodegrance, chatting with a man. His back is to me. All I can see is a red cape and longish hair.

"Ah, Guinevere, my dear, may I present Sir Leon of Camelot, knight of King Arthur's round table and captain of the guards."

Huzzah. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, sir knight," I say mildly, curtseying despite the fact that I am his better.

"My lady, it is my honor to escort you back to Camelot," the knight says, bowing.

I look at him for the first time. He's handsome. Blue eyes, a kind face. At least I won't be in the company of an ugly brute.

Not very reassuring, though, because while he is not ugly, he could certainly still be a brute. So could his king. Some of the most dangerous men are the most handsome.

"Shall we depart while we have the light to our favor?" I ask.

"As my lady wishes," Sir Leon nods, and I think I see the hint of a smirk playing about his lips.

Not that I'm looking at his lips.

"My lord, King Arthur will send word when we've arrived safely," Leon tells my father.

"Yes, tell, ah, King Arthur, that I will await his messenger," my father answers.

Why do they look like they're sharing some joke, and why do I feel like I'm the butt of it?

"Guinevere, my treasure," my father beckons me over, his arms outstretched. I walk to him, and I am no longer able to hold my emotions as tears slip from my eyes. "You will be happy in Camelot. The king is a good man," he whispers to me as he hugs me. "I wouldn't ship you off to someone with whom you would be unhappy."

How can he know what kind of man will make me happy? He has never bothered to ask me. Instead he kept me cloistered away, a jewel set in a gilded cage.

"I will miss you, Father," I say. I will miss him.

But it might be nice to be out of here.

He takes my face gently between his hands and kisses my forehead.

"I love you, my Guinevere. Your mother would be proud of you, her little copy," he smiles fondly at me.

"I love you, Father," I say, and he releases me to the care of this Sir Leon.

I turn and stride from the hall, the knight following on his long legs.

"So eager to be off, my lady?" he asks, catching me up. He's certainly forward.

"We must take advantage of the daylight while we can," I answer, sticking to my story. Really I just want to get this over with and uncover my fate.

I know very little of King Arthur, only what I've heard or have been told. He's kind and fair. He's a fierce warrior. He's young, which is reassuring.

Perhaps I can worm some more details out of this knight.

"Will you be riding in the wagon, my lady, or…"

"I am perfectly capable of riding my horse, thank you," I snap, walking to my beloved horse, Lavender. She's a beautiful white mare, and I am happy that I can bring her with me.

Leon smiles. "Of course, my lady. You have a fine horse," he nods, climbing astride his massive brown stallion.

"I am quite fond of my horse," I say proudly. "I will have to remember to thank the king for allowing me to bring her."

"Indeed, my lady," he says, smiling that curious smile again.

Once I am settled, we head out, Leon leading the way. I follow, and the wagon with my dowry and personal items follows behind, driven by another guard.

I quickly pull alongside Sir Leon. I will not be looking at a horse's backside all the way to Camelot.

"How long is the journey to Camelot?" I ask when I catch up.

He turns, surprised to see me right there. "Less than a day's journey. We should arrive by nightfall."

"Oh," I say, a little disappointed.

"In no hurry to meet your future husband?" he asks.

"Um, actually I was hoping to get to stay in an inn or something. I've never been to an inn."

"No?"

"No. I've never been anywhere, really. My father would barely allow me out of the castle."

"So never an inn or… a tavern?" he asks. He's laughing at me now. Not outwardly, but on the inside, he's having a little joke.

"Princesses do not go to taverns," I say.

"Of course not. What do princesses do, if I may ask?"

I look sideways at him. I wonder if his king allows him to speak so to him. "Well, I don't know what _other_ princesses do, but I don't do much of anything. I can sew and weave. I can sing, a bit. I read. A lot."

"What do you read?"

"History. Stories. Whatever I can get my hands on," I admit. He probably thinks I'm bookish and odd now. "I like to walk in the gardens. I know flowers. Not a very useful skill…"

"Do you also know how flowers and other plants can be used?" he asks.

"Of course." Certainly I do. Didn't I just say that I read everything I could get my hands on?

"Then I would say it's a very useful skill indeed," he appraises.

Oh, good, I have the uppity knight's approval on something. Huzzah, again.

"What do you sew?"

"Needlework, mostly. I have a tapestry in the wagon for the king that I made."

"Oh?"

"Yes. It's a… work in progress, I guess. Family trees of Pendragon and Leodegrance. I'll… likely have to add… to… it…" I say, blushing suddenly, thinking of exactly what would cause me to need to add to it.

"Hmm," he replies, noncommittally. I cannot look at him. I know he is smirking at me again, and I would just be tempted to throw one of the apples in my saddlebag at him if I saw it.

We stop to rest and water the horses after a few hours. I scoop some cool water from the stream in my hands and pat the back of my neck. It's a warm day. I stand and see Sir Leon regarding me curiously. A little too interested. I pretend not to notice.

I reach into my saddlebag and pull out two apples. I feed one to Lavender, stroking her nose.

"May I?" I ask, holding up the other apple and looking at Leon's horse.

"Um, okay, but be careful. He doesn't always like strangers…" he says, walking over as I make my way to his stallion.

"He's beautiful. What's his name?"

"Um, Captain," he says, unreasonably nervous as I near Captain's head.

"Hello, Captain, would you like an apple?" I ask. I reach up and stroke his long nose. He ducks his head and pushes against my hand. He wants the apple. I hold up my other hand and he gently takes the apple from it. I grin triumphantly at Sir Leon.

He's looking at me very strangely. As if he's trying to figure me out.

"I have more apples, if you'd like one. Apples fit for people, that is," I say, turning away, eager to be away from his burning gaze for some reason.

"Are you going to stroke my nose and feed it to me, too?" he asks.

What?

"Excuse me?" I ask, scandalized.

"Oh. Um. Yes. Forgive me, my lady. I forget my place," he stammers, the silly grin falling from his face.

"Here," I say, thrusting the piece of fruit at him.

"Thank you," he mutters.

"Does your king allow you to be so flippant in his presence?" I ask. I'm being haughty and I don't care right now. Images of me feeding him apples… and grapes, and cheese, and sweet honeyed cakes are flashing through my brain and I want them to go away.

"I think you'll find that the king is not the man you may think he is," Sir Leon says, speaking with his mouth full.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I only mean that he is a man of the people. Or at least he tries to be."

"I have heard good things about King Arthur; you had me worried there for a moment," I say. This knight makes me uncomfortable.

"King Arthur always tries to be fair and just, especially where his father wasn't."

"King Uther was a tyrant, I hear."

"An argument could be made to support that rumor, yes," he allows, tossing his apple core over his shoulder.

I've only got mine started, and he's finished his.

"King Arthur is trying to learn from the mistakes his father made. He actually listens to his knights, the council, and the people."

"The round table," I say.

"Yes. And, truth be told, one of his closest advisors is his manservant, Merlin. Though he'd never admit it to anyone," he says, smirking.

Oh, I do hope I'm not going to be one of _those_ kinds of queens. A decoy to hide the fact that the king prefers the company of his _manservant._

"My lady?"

I must be making a face. "I'm sorry, but your words just now… I mean, it's wonderful if that's how the king is. But can I ask a delicate question? About the king and his… manservant?"

Sir Leon nods, then his eyes grow as wide as two blue and white saucers. "Oh! No! It's not like.. _that_ … ugh, no." He makes a face, as if he is truly disgusted.

"Thank you for your honesty, sir knight. I just… momentarily was afraid that I was being sent to Camelot to… quell rumors, or something…"

"No, not at all."

"You seem fairly confident. Is the king a… a womanizer?"

"No. Just… I just know he definitely prefers the company of a beautiful lady such as yourself, my lady."

That's kind of inappropriate.

"Oh. Shall we continue on then? Sir Leon?"

He holds his hand up, indicating that I be silent. I notice that the forest has indeed grown very quiet. I back up against my horse as Sir Leon draws his sword.

In a flash, we are ambushed by three men, masked and dirty. Bandits! I watch as Leon dispatches one almost immediately, simply, almost. He kicks the second into the third, but the third man pushes the second one back at Leon, toppling the sword from his hand.

Sir Leon and the second bandit struggle, and the third one circles around, coming towards me.

"Well, well, what have we here?"

"Just humble travelers, we have nothing of value," I say. I'm not a very good liar.

He clicks his tongue, tutting at me. "Shame. Princesses should not lie, should they, Princess Guinev—" His words become a thick gurgle as Sir Leon's sword runs through his middle, just inches from me. The bandit drops to the forest floor. Leon withdraws his sword and sheathes it.

"Are you all right?" he asks me, his voice soft and low. It feels like a caress. He even reaches his hand up to my face, but drops it, realizing that it would be improper.

"Yes, I'm fine," I whisper. "The wagon!" I exclaim. It's up on the road, with the other guard. I hope he's all right.

"Let's go see. I didn't hear anything, so Bors is probably okay."

"They could have been quiet," I say, not convinced.

"These were unskilled thugs, my lady. It's doubtful that they would be quiet while ransacking a wagon."

Good point. We get back up to the road and Bors is waiting for us, whistling idly. Poor man is bored. I pass him an apple.

"Thank you, my lady," he nods.

"You can eat and drive," Sir Leon says. Commands? Well, Father did say that he is the captain of the guards.

Bors just nods and we head back out.

"That bandit didn't harm you?" he asks again, clearly concerned about my safety.

"He didn't even touch me. He knew who I was, though," I said.

"I would imagine many people know who you are, my lady. Your beauty is widely known throughout the five kingdoms."

"You should not compliment me so," I mutter, looking away.

"I am merely repeating what is held to be common knowledge," he says, a little defensively. "Though the rumors do not do you justice, my lady."

"Sir Leon, please," I say. I'm beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"Forgive me, my lady."

"I do not want to have to report your behavior to your king," I say, but there is no conviction behind my words.

"That would not do at all," he says, frowning. "Forgive me."

"I forgive you. Just mind your tongue, please."

"Yes, my lady," he answers. Then he falls silent.

We ride quietly for a while, but I feel his gaze on me. I do not even have to turn my head, yet I can feel his eyes tracking my movements. It is like he is a hunter and I, his quarry.

It is improper and it makes my pulse quicken in a way that makes me feel very unsteady. I am to be married to his king.

Yes, this knight is handsome. No, I may not think that thought ever again.

Night has fallen by the time we pass through the gates into the courtyard of the castle. It is a beautiful place, white stone, tall, proud spires touching the stars.

Sir Leon dismounts and immediately steps over to help me down from my horse, his broad hands nearly circling my waist as he lifts me down.

I expect to be greeted by the king. Instead I am greeted by a tall, skinny, pale man with shiny black hair and large ears.

"Welcome, my lady. The king begs your forgiveness for not meeting you. He is indisposed with matters of state this evening, but he has arranged for a meal to be sent to your chambers and has maids waiting at your disposal," the young man says, speaking a mile a minute.

"Thank you…"

"Merlin," the young man says, glancing at Sir Leon as the knight passes the reins of both horses to the servant.

"The king's manservant?" I ask.

"Oh, you've heard of me?" he grins. His grin is like the sun coming from behind the clouds and I cannot help but grin back at him.

"Merlin…" Sir Leon interrupts.

"Sir Leon mentioned you while we journeyed, yes," I say, ignoring the knight.

"Good things, I hope," he says, still smiling broadly.

"Merlin!" Leon says crossly. "Lady Guinevere has been traveling all day and surely would like to retire to her chambers."

"Yes, of course… Sir Leon. If you will follow me," he says. "Your things will be brought," he adds absently. "We have the largest guest chambers all set for you, my lady," he continues.

Merlin is very chatty. I look over my shoulder at Sir Leon. He hasn't moved. He is standing in the courtyard, watching me walk away, his face inscrutable.

Why did I choose now to look back?

My quarters are lovely. My temporary quarters. Tomorrow I am to be married to a man I've never met. Never seen.

Any little girl who wishes she could be a princess clearly knows nothing of actually being a princess.

The food is sumptuous and I eat probably a little more than I should. I've had a long day. I can indulge.

There is a soft knock at my door. "Yes?" I call. It is a young maid.

"Is there anything you require, my lady?" she asks.

"I would love a bath, actually. What's your name?" I ask. It seems to surprise her.

"Sefa, my lady. I will have a bath brought presently."

"Thank you, Sefa."

"Um, you're welcome," she stammers, scurrying away.

A few minutes later another, louder knock at my door. Good thing Sefa hasn't returned with my bath.

This time I stand and go to the door. I open it to find Sir Leon standing there. He's still in his chainmail, but no cloak.

"My lady," he nods.

"Sir Leon," I answer. "Um, thank you for seeing me safely here."

"It was my honor, my lady. And my pleasure."

Inappropriate. Again. He makes me feel warm, and I don't like it. He sees me frown.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that. I just wished to bid you goodnight, my lady."

It's his eyes that are so disconcerting. He continually gazes at me like I am a treasure.

"Goodnight, Sir Leon," I say, hoping I'm not giving away my attraction to him.

Yes, I am attracted to him. I will admit it, just this once. Tomorrow it will not matter.

Sefa returns just then, and she jumps in surprise at seeing Sir Leon standing there.

"Oh, excuse me S—"

"Quite all right, Sefa, I was just leaving," he says, talking over her. He strides quickly away, disappearing down the corridor. I step aside to let Sefa and her companions in to set up my bath.

Before I close the door, Merlin appears. So many visitors! I like Merlin, though. He seems a person that one cannot help but like.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, my lady, but I bring a gift from the king," he says. I allow him inside. Why not? Join the crowd.

"My lady, do you have a preference for scent?" Sefa comes over with a box. I peruse the vials.

"Lavender, please," I say, pointing to the correct vial. She probably cannot read. She curtseys and disappears again.

"My lady," Merlin hands me a box.

"The king could not deliver this himself?" I ask, growing cross with this mysterious – and apparently arrogant – king.

"He sends his apologies, but he is still busy. There's a bit of a mess at the northern borders, and with the wedding tomorrow, he's trying to get everything squared away so there are no disruptions, my lady."

Oh.

I open the box, chastised by an unwitting servant. Inside is a beautiful necklace of emeralds set in gold.

"King Arthur would like you to wear this tomorrow. It belonged to his mother, and he wishes for the next Queen of Camelot to wear it on her wedding day as well."

I wonder if he practiced that little speech.

"It is beautiful," I whisper, lifting it from the box. "Tell your master thank you and I would be honored to wear it."

Merlin simply bows and hurries away. I have a feeling that the king keeps him quite busy.

"My lady, your bath is ready," Sefa says now. She's quiet and efficient. I like her.

"Help me undress, please," I say as the others file out.

After a night of fitful sleep, haunted by dreams featuring various different King Arthurs – the most disturbing the one where he looked like Sir Leon – I am standing outside the large doors of the great hall, jeweled and gowned, ready to walk up the aisle to meet my husband for the first time.

This is not how weddings should be conducted. He should have spent the time to court me. Get to know me. Find out if we were even compatible. I feel like I've been sold to the highest bidder.

The doors open and I take a deep breath, stepping inside. I wish my father were here. He should be escorting me up the aisle. I don't know anyone here, apart from Merlin and Sefa. And Sir Leon.

I walk, slowly, my eyes unfocused, seeing everything and nothing. Faces are blurs. I see two thrones behind a man with a white beard standing at the front.

Then I feel it. Those blue eyes. Burning into my soul. Of course Sir Leon would be attending the wedding.

I almost falter in my steps, and my gaze shifts to the right of the bearded man, finally choosing to look on King Arthur.

I do pause now, stopping just momentarily. My feet have forgotten how to walk. The man standing up there is Sir Leon.

He smirks at me.

I see red, and will my feet to move.

Not Sir Leon, King Arthur. All this time, it was the king, pretending. Making a fool of me.

By the time I reach the front, my jaw is clenched and my eyes are hard.

He takes my hands gently in his, gazes down at me with that damnable look that makes me warm, and whispers, "How angry are you right now?"

"Angrier than I've ever been in my entire life, _Sir Leon,_ " I hiss. He smirks again. The nerve! I almost pull my hands away, but he holds them tightly.

Then he strokes my knuckles with his thumbs. My breath catches and my eyes fly to his again.

"If we may begin?" the bearded man interrupts our silent argument.

Is it an argument? I'm not sure any more. I'm relieved, actually, that I was having feelings that did not turn out to be inappropriate after all. I'm humiliated that he would conduct such a ruse and put me in such a situation.

I speak the words I am required to speak. He speaks his words, and I find I am distracted by his mouth.

Now I'm angry with myself because my anger with him is being shifted into something… else. He needs to stop being so charming.

"And now, your union must be sealed with a kiss," the man with the beard says, nodding at Arthur.

"I'm sorry, Guinevere, I did not wish to deceive you," he whispers now. Then he kisses me.

I am lost. His lips are soft, so soft. His hands are warm on my back. My fingers curl into his tunic of their own accord.

He finally releases me after kissing me for what surely was longer than proper, and my eyes open to see him watching me, his face full of wonder.

Then I realize that mine must surely look very similar.

Later, he will introduce me to the _real_ Sir Leon. Later, he will apologize again, stating that he wanted to get to know me as I truly am, not as a bride trying to be who she thinks her husband wants her to be. Later, he will literally beg my forgiveness on his knees, his head in my lap while I giggle at him like a little girl and accuse him of having drunk too much ale. Later, he will kiss me again, like I have never been kissed before. Later, he will touch me in ways of which I never could have dreamed. Later, he will take me to his bed and brand me his own, making me his wife in every way.

Later, we will sleep. Much later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The expanded version of this fic, "Of Honor and Love" can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10232219/chapters/22701164


	8. Watching

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's habit of forgetting to knock yields unexpected results. Rated E.

Merlin opens the door to Arthur's chambers and walks casually in. He stops short at the scene unfolding in front of him. _I didn't knock again._

Guinevere is seated on top of the table, Arthur in front of her, his hips between her knees, his lips on her neck. They are clothed, but Gwen's bodice has been loosened and one shoulder is exposed. Merlin feels his eyes drawn to her creamy brown skin.

 _I should go. I don't think they've noticed me yet. Just turn around and leave._ Yet he finds his boots rooted to the spot, his body not obeying his brain.

Just then, Gwen opens her eyes and looks straight at him. _Uh oh._ He stops breathing. But she doesn't tell Arthur to stop, doesn't tell Merlin to leave. She watches him a moment, a crafty look on her flushed face. Then she reaches down for Arthur's head, and brings his lips to hers. She kisses him and whispers, "We're being watched."

_Did Arthur just shrug?_

Arthur kisses her passionately once more, then turns on Merlin. "So Merlin, you like to watch." Merlin notices Arthur's current state of arousal, and that Arthur seems completely unconcerned about it.

"No!" he protests.

"Yes, you do," he says simply. "We've seen you. Often when we're… together, we've seen you. You don't think we do, but we know you're there. In the throne room, behind the drapes in the council chambers, in my tent at the last tournament…" He is circling Merlin, speaking calmly, naming times they've been aware of Merlin witnessing their various activities as casually as if he is taking inventory of the armory.

Merlin sees Guinevere slide down from the table, not bothering to right her dress. She looks intently at him, licks her lips, then bites her lower lip. Merlin feels a sudden heat flood through him, starting in his loins and spreading to his fingers and toes. He closes his eyes.

Arthur continues. "Tell me, Merlin: All the times you've _forgotten_ to knock, have you _truly_ forgotten?" This last bit he says softly, very close to Merlin's ear. His eyes fly open again.

"Yes!" he protests, then he sees Guinevere move again. Her hand is at her neck. She then slides her fingertips delicately down to her cleavage, and his eyes cannot help but follow. Still she watches him. Vaguely he is aware that Arthur has locked the door.

"Maybe." A whispered confession pulled forth by Gwen's wordless seduction.

"You like to watch? All right, then…" Arthur extends a hand to Guinevere. She steps forward and takes his hand. Then she grabs Merlin's hand with her other and Arthur leads them both to the bed.

At the bed, Arthur drops Gwen's hand to pull his shirt off as Gwen releases Merlin's hand. _Run. Run now,_ Merlin thinks, but again his feet disobey him. Gwen grabs the scarf around Merlin's neck and pulls him to her, kissing him.

Merlin whimpers in his throat. Gwen's tongue snakes its way into his mouth, which opens of its own accord. He sees her reach back and put her free hand on Arthur's erection, squeezing and rubbing it. Merlin's eyes roll back in his head just before they close and he gives in, kissing her back furiously, bringing an arm around her waist. She releases his neck scarf and runs her fingers into his hair.

Arthur steps closer, her hand still on him, and he starts kissing her neck from behind as she continues to plunder Merlin's mouth with her own. Arthur's hand starts working at her dress, loosening the ties holding it closed in the back.

Gwen pulls Merlin's lower lip into her mouth, sucks on it, pulling gently, then releases him. "What would you like, Merlin?"

Merlin's brows knit in confusion. _What is she asking?_

"You are our guest," she explains, placing her hand on his chest, "our… observer." She runs her hand down across his stomach. "What would you like," her hand goes lower, "to _see?_ " She finds his hardness through his trousers, and presses her hand against it with her last word.

 _Are they serious?_ he thinks, and a thousand possibilities flash through his mind. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment.

"Come now, Merlin," Arthur says, still standing behind Gwen. "Surely there is something you'd like me to… do… to Guinevere," he prompts, bringing his hand around Gwen's torso to caress a breast. She arches back against him, resting her head on his shoulder. Her breasts threaten to leap from the already-loosened bodice. "Or her to me," he concludes.

"Um…" Merlin manages. _I can't think with her hand on me like that._ "Un… undress her," he finally croaks.

He is rewarded with a soft kiss from Gwen. "See, now, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" She releases him and steps next to the bed.

"Not very _creative,_ but we have to start somewhere," Arthur complains. He turns his attention to Guinevere.

Merlin stands, helpless, as Arthur finishes unfastening Gwen's dress. He slides it off her other shoulder, kissing the soft skin as it comes into view. Her eyes flutter closed at his touch, and he eases the dress further down. He slides it lower, and Merlin holds his breath. But instead of seeing the breasts he so desperately wants to see, he is treated to her undergarments first. She has on a strapless shift, cream colored. The anticipation has been prolonged by its presence, and Merlin's hands twitch, wanting to touch himself. He breathes again, trying to maintain control of his urges.

Arthur slides the dress the rest of the way down, kneeling in front of her. He presses a kiss to her stomach and then holds a hand aloft to help her step out of the circle of silk around her feet. She does so and he stands, kissing the inside of her wrist before releasing her hand so that he can run his along her body, over the shift. He goes around behind her again, ensuring that Merlin gets a good look. The thin garment doesn't leave much to the imagination, and Merlin drinks her in with his eyes, hungry for more.

"Shall I continue?" Arthur asks. He is teasing him.

Merlin nods, unable to speak.

Arthur undoes a few ties at the back again, and the undergarment falls unceremoniously to the floor.

The sudden shock of seeing her all at once nearly drives Merlin out of his mind, and as he groans, the fire in the fireplace cracks loudly behind him.

He stares. Guinevere is magnificent. Perfect. Breathtakingly beautiful, her soft caramel skin glowing in the firelight.

Arthur brings his hands around her, stroking her stomach, up to her breasts for a moment, then back down. "Now what?" he challenges Merlin.

Merlin's eyes grow wide. _They want more? Do I dare…?_ Swallowing hard, he says, "Now you," then adds, just to be safe, "My lord."

Gwen grins at this and turns around, treating Merlin to a view of her perfect ass. She shoves Arthur and he falls back on the bed, laughing.

She slides up between his legs and pulls the string holding his trousers together. With her teeth. Merlin is impressed. So is Arthur. As she opens his trousers, his manhood springs free, stiff and proud, and she kisses it, bringing forth a groan from Arthur.

She pulls his trousers down and he lifts himself to allow her to remove them. Once they are at his knees, she realizes he still has his boots on. Laughing, she yanks them from his feet and flings them across the room.

Merlin watches, afraid he is going to fall over. He feels faint. He doesn't know where to look. He is transfixed by Gwen's delicious mysteries, finally revealed to him, but he cannot help but stare at Arthur's arousal as well. Certainly he's seen Arthur naked in the past, but never like _this._

Gwen kneels on the floor next to Arthur's legs, which are hanging over the side of the bed. She absentmindedly caresses his calf and looks at Merlin. "So what now, darling?" she asks. Arthur is still on the bed, his hands behind his head, lying there like a human sundial.

 _Her flirtatious seduction is going to kill me,_ Merlin thinks, watching her. This time he has an answer, though. "Suck his cock," he says, looking right at her.

"Ooo," she says. She runs the tip of her finger along the sole of Arthur's foot. He yelps and kicks his foot out. _Arthur is ticklish?_ Merlin thinks.

Gwen lifts up, turning to kneel between Arthur's knees. Arthur sits up and gazes down at her. The look of unconditional love and unbridled desire in Arthur's eyes as he looks at Gwen sends another jolt through Merlin and the fire pops loudly again.

"Not that way," Merlin hears a voice say. He realizes it is his own and swallows hard.

"Oh?" Gwen turns and stands. "Then how, pray tell?" She sits on the bed next to Arthur, her hand casually stroking his erection with her fingertips. Arthur leans over and starts nibbling her ear. Merlin grabs his own thigh, desperately fighting his own physical urges.

"Yes, Merlin," Arthur says between nibbles and kisses, " _Do_ be specific."

Merlin's mouth has gone dry. He takes a deep breath and says, "Arthur, lay on your back. Up on the bed." He swallows again as Arthur complies with his request. Gwen climbs up next to him, on the other side to make sure Merlin can see. She looks at him for approval.

"Yes," he nods slowly. "So he can reach you."

Smiling, Gwen lounges on her side, legs curled. She looks like a beautiful cat. "Like this?" she purrs at Merlin. He nods mutely.

Arthur reaches out and slides his hand on her thigh, stroking upwards to her hip, his eyes closed. _Gwen hasn't even touched him yet and already he looks to be in heaven, as if the very feel of her skin excites him,_ Merlin notices. Arthur's hand caresses her backside and Guinevere leans forward, taking him in her mouth. Arthur groans, tilting his head back. Merlin groans, hands opening and closing uselessly at his sides.

Gwen slides her lips around Arthur's length, sucking, licking, even gently using her teeth at times.

"Hold his balls," Merlin hears himself say, his voice rough.

"Yes…" agrees Arthur. Gwen complies, reaching between Arthur's legs to gently grasp his testicles in her hand, squeezing and kneading delicately as she plunges her head forward, swallowing his cock completely inside her mouth.

_Wow._

"Tou… Touch her, Arthur. Her breasts."

Arthur slides the hand from Gwen's ass around to her breast, squeezing softly, his fingers playing at her nipple. She makes a satisfied noise in the back of her throat as she swirls her tongue around his shaft, working her way from the base to the tip, which she then bites lightly.

"Oh…" Arthur grunts.

Merlin groans again, and Gwen looks up at him. Her eyes lock on his as she licks and sucks Arthur's cock. Her gaze sears into him until he can't take it any more, and he tears his eyes away, looking instead at the ceiling for a moment to collect his thoughts.

"Merlin?" Gwen coos, wanting new instructions.

His eyes fly back to her, and he sees that she's reversed herself so her head is up beside Arthur's. His hand is drifting down between her legs, and she parts them for him.

"Yes. Touch her there, Arthur. Kiss her. All over."

Arthur grins and he bends over Guinevere's body, already writhing beneath his hand. Merlin moves forward to get a better view.

Arthur kisses her first on the lips, a hungry, needy, lustful kiss. Then he trails down her neck to her breasts, and she arches her back into him.

Merlin's breathing is ragged, and his hand drifts to clutch at his cock. He summons his will and replaces his hand firmly against the outside of his thigh.

"All over?" Arthur lifts his head and asks, the insinuation clear in his voice.

"Y-yes."

Arthur slides down and spreads Gwen's legs further apart, stroking the insides of her thighs as he does so. Gwen's eyes are blissfully closed and she turns her head to the side, lips parted. _She is so unbelievably beautiful._

Arthur leans his head into her and plunges his tongue into her. She cries out softly, her hands grasping at the bedcovers. He slips his tongue along her wet folds, teasing her clit, plunging his tongue into her opening. His hand skims across her stomach, reaching up to cup a breast, rubbing the taut nipple with his thumb. Guinevere moans. Arthur licks at her, kissing, sucking, probing. Merlin is transfixed.

"Fuck her, Arthur. Do it now," Merlin says, his voice barely audible. But Arthur hears and lifts his head from her and slides himself back up to her, positioning himself between her legs.

Merlin takes a step closer, hypnotized.

Arthur delves into her, slowly. Gwen sighs, reaching up for him, pulling his face down to hers. She kisses him, open-mouthed and greedy, sucking at his lips and Arthur begins thrusting into her.

Gwen pulls her lips away for a moment and looks at Merlin, standing like a statue.

"Arthur," she gasps. Arthur keeps his rhythm. "Arthur," she says again.

He slows down and looks at her, his eyes unfocused. "Love?"

"I don't think our guest is… enjoying himself," she gasps, hardly able to speak.

"Why do you…" he swallows, "say that?"

"He's not… touching himself," she says, looking reproachfully at Merlin.

"Uh… I…" Merlin begins.

"Not enough for you, Merlin?" Arthur asks, pulling back and sliding in again, painfully slow, taunting Merlin, holding himself there briefly. Gwen moans again.

"No, it's…"

"Touch yourself, Merlin," Gwen whispers.

 _How can I say no to her?_ Merlin thinks, and reaches for the ties on his trousers.

"Unless you want… oh…" she says, briefly distracted as Arthur thrusts again, and she continues, " _me_ to…"

Merlin's eyes fly open wide with surprise.

"Oh, that's a good idea," Arthur grunts in agreement.

Gwen reaches her hand out towards Merlin. "Come here," she beckons. Merlin moves forward as if she is pulling him with a rope.

He reaches the bedside and Gwen grabs his waistband, pulling him closer, untying his trousers. "Sit…" she gasps, her hand caressing the space on the coverlet beside her as Arthur still pounds into her. He bends to kiss her once again while Merlin gingerly climbs onto the bed.

Merlin sits beside her, lying back slightly. Gwen reaches over and frees Merlin's cock, which is becoming painfully hard. Before she touches him, however, she takes his hand and places it on her breast.

"Touch her, Merlin. Help me fuck her," Arthur gasps.

Gwen wraps her hand around Merlin's cock and his whole body jerks, his head thrown back. "Ohhh…" he groans. His hand is grasping at Gwen's breast. It feels as good as it looks, and he knows he isn't going to last long. He rubs his thumb across her nipple and then pinches it lightly.

"Arthur…" Gwen gasps. Then, "Merlin…"

Gwen takes Merlin's hand in hers and moves it from her breast, sliding it down across her stomach. _Now I understand Arthur's earlier bliss,_ he thinks, marveling at the feel of her skin. Arthur watches this and obligingly leans back a bit, grabbing Gwen's hips and lifting her up to meet him as he continues his thrusts.

Gwen continues sliding Merlin's hand down, her other still stroking him, until he feels coarse curls beneath his fingers. His eyes fly open. His fingers feel warm, soft moisture as she pushes his fingers further, touching her most sensitive point, guiding them, showing them what to do. He has never felt anything like it before, and his entire body starts to feel superheated.

Merlin's fingers learn quickly, and soon they are moving without him even thinking. Gwen's hand is working in time to Arthur's motions, and all three are moaning and grunting in ecstasy. Merlin occasionally slips and his knuckles brush against Arthur's cock as it slides in and out of Guinevere. Arthur gasps with pleasure each time he does this, and Merlin switches his hand, pleasuring Gwen with his thumb and reaching for Arthur with his fingers.

 _Oh, God,_ Merlin thinks, taking his free hand and jerking his shirt up, exposing his chest. He doesn't want any evidence on his shirt giving them away. He groans, and his voice works of its own free will again.

"Gwen?" he gasps, "Can I…?"

"Yes, Merlin, anything you want…" she moans, arching her back again.

Merlin licks his lips and pulls his hand away from Guinevere's clit, and she whimpers her disappointment. However, he quickly plunges his other hand in its place, switching so he can lean on the arm closest to her. He lifts up slightly and drops his head to her breast, taking a taut nipple in his mouth.

"Yes, Merlin, yes…" Gwen rewards him with her praise, and strokes her hand down to the base of his cock, where she shoves her hand inside his opened trousers to grasp his balls. He responds by biting her nipple lightly, and she cries out.

Arthur is beginning to feel like the bystander, and he shifts his weight forward, still driving into Gwen. "Make room," he grunts and latches on to her other breast.

"Arthur, oh, yes…" she gasps.

The trio are a writhing, sweaty tangle of limbs and flesh, and Gwen is quickly approaching her climax, spurred on by the remarkable sensory overload provided by Arthur and Merlin. Arthur's cock and Merlin's hand between her legs; their mouths at her breasts, she is driven into a frenzy of passion.

"Oh… yes… oh…" she gasps.

Merlin cannot hold on any longer. He continues kissing Gwen's breast, his tongue swirling, licking, flicking, teeth nibbling. Gwen's passionate cries reach his ears and they push him over the edge. He pulls his head away from her breast, lets out a passionate roar and comes, spilling onto her hand, his stomach, and the bedcovers. The fire in the fireplace roars large and hot suddenly, and every candle in the room lights. A mirror cracks and so does a windowpane.

He drops his head back to her breast, kissing it gently, reverently, and she finds her own release, her body bucking beneath Arthur, trapping Merlin's hand between them, and she screams with uninhibited ecstasy just as Arthur growls ferociously, burying his face in her neck, jamming himself into her a final time before he stills his hips, locked within her.

Arthur collapses gently on her, his head on one of her shoulders, Merlin's on the other. She brings her hands up to caress the cheeks of both men.

Gwen looks down at Merlin, and she kisses him deeply, sweeping her tongue through his mouth. Then she looks at Arthur and kisses him similarly, a little longer, though, as Arthur won't let her escape as easily. Arthur looks at Merlin, shrugs, and then kisses him, fiercely but briefly, his own tongue flicking against Merlin's. He then looks back at Gwen and kisses her again, hungrily, longingly, lovingly.

Arthur withdraws from her and lies beside Gwen, turning them both so that he can spoon up behind her. Merlin lays on his back still, Gwen's hand on his chest.

"You know, if you two would remember to lock the door, you wouldn't be interrupted," Merlin says after several minutes.

"Sometimes we do," Arthur mutters into Gwen's neck. "Sometimes things just… happen… and we forget that the door is unlocked."

"And sometimes," Gwen continues, "we _don't_ lock the door."

Merlin looks at her, surprised. "You set a trap for me."


	9. One of the Lads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guinevere returns home and finds herself roommates with her three male friends. And Arthur. Rated M.

"Well, that's easy. Move in with us."

Merlin had a way of making things seem so simple. _You're moving back to London from Chicago? Oh, all right. You have to find a place to live? Easy. We've got room. Problem solved._

"I couldn't. Aren't there, like, four of you in there already?" Guinevere asks, fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on her glass. She'd met him for lunch at a cafe, and since it's a nice day, they chose to sit outside.

"Yeah, but it's a house. It's not like it's a tiny flat. We've got plenty of room."

"How many bedrooms does it have?" she asks, lulled by his confidence that this is a good idea.

"Three," he simply answers.

" _Three?_ Merlin, there are four men living in a three bedroom house and you think there's room for me as well? They'll never go for that," she protests.

"Gwen, Leon and Percival are already sharing the largest bedroom. Arthur – you remember Arthur right? Arthur Pendragon? He's got the next largest, and I have the smallest room, which is also the most private. There's room enough in Arthur's for me to bunk with him."

Arthur. That's a name Gwen hadn't heard in years. Leon, Percival, and Merlin have been her friends for as long as she can remember. Friends since year one. Arthur had been part of the group, but his father moved their family away when he was ten, after his mother died. Persistent Merlin was the only one who managed to keep in contact with him, first as pen pals, then progressing to email with the advent of the Internet.

Apparently, he's back.

"I don't know..." she says. "I mean, I need to get out of Elyan's house. Like, _need._ I mean, I love my niece and nephew, but..."

"Yeah, three-year-old twins can be a lot to take. Especially those two," Merlin agrees, chuckling. "So, is that a yes?"

"I just don't know, Merlin..."

"Gwen, the guys love you. It'll be fine."

"I feel like I'd be imposing."

"Nah, the way I figure, everyone benefits. Another set of hands to do the chores. Another person who knows how to cook – not that we're expecting you to cook for us, of course, but right now Leon is the only one with any culinary skills. And best of all, you'll be paying a share of the rent, which means _we'll_ have a little less to pay."

She sighs. "Talk to them first, please, and then I'll think about it."

Merlin whips out his mobile and immediately starts texting. "On it right now."

"God, Merlin, you can wait until you see them!" she exclaims, but she's laughing because she knows very well he _can't_ wait.

xXx

"Gwen!"

She is greeted by a chorus of male voices as she stands wide-eyed in the doorway, suitcase leaning beside her.

"Um, hi."

"Hey, guys," Elyan calls, appearing behind Gwen, a box already in his hands. They all greet Elyan, though not as enthusiastically as they did his sister, having seen him more recently.

Merlin is at Gwen's side in a second taking the suitcase from her so she can be greeted by Leon, who hugs her warmly, but gently, also kissing her cheek. "It's so good to see you," he says, his blue eyes twinkling.

"You, too," she replies, blinking back tears as she sees her old friend. She turns and is immediately lifted off her feet and engulfed in a giant bear hug that threatens to steal her breath. "Percival!" she gasps.

"Gwennie!" he answers, spinning her around before setting her back on her feet. "Welcome!" He grins and bends to kiss her cheek as well.

"See, told you it was fine," Merlin says.

Gwen rolls her eyes at him. She turns slightly and sees the fourth housemate hovering in the back, leaning against the wall. "Arthur?" she asks.

What was once a skinny, slightly hyperactive boy with hair so blonde it was almost white has grown into a fit, seemingly quiet, serious man with golden hair and a face that looks like it had been sculpted by a gifted artist.

_Puberty was good to you, Arthur._

"Hello, Guinevere," he answers, not moving from his position holding up the wall. "Welcome back to London."

"Um, thank you," she says. "It's good to see you again." _That's right. He always called me "Guinevere", even when we were nine._

"You, too. You've grown up," he says, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slight smile as he looks at her, marveling over how the scrawny, tiny, flat-chested tomboy with frizzy hair has grown into a beautiful, curvaceous woman. "Somewhat," he adds.

"Hey, she can't help she stopped getting taller at 13," Elyan interjects, walking past with a box from Gwen's car.

"Thank you, Elyan... I think," she says. Her older brother simply shrugs off her embarrassment with a teasing grin

Guinevere turns to Leon. "Thanks for letting me stay here," she adds, then heads out to help unload her car and the small truck she rented.

He nods and trails after her. Arthur hesitates, then follows them outside.

xXx

Later that week, she meets Merlin for lunch and asks the question that has been bugging her since he told her how much the rent was. Or more accurately, how _little._

"Merlin, are you sure you told me the right amount? I mean, I feel like I'm taking advantage enough, but is this _really_ what the rest of you are paying?" she asks.

He nods. "Yep. It's super cheap, I know, but that's because it's split up five ways."

"Still seems low," she says, doing some quick math in her head.

Merlin says nothing, looking off to the side.

"Merlin, what aren't you telling me?"

"Hmm? Nothing. We just have a very good deal, that's all," he answers, still avoiding her eyes

"You are a terrible liar."

He looks at her. "Fine. I'm not supposed to tell you, but Arthur owns the house. We pay him rent and he puts it towards the mortgage along with his own share."

Gwen blinks in surprise. "Oh. Wait, isn't Arthur like super rich? Why does he even have a mortgage?"

"His father is super rich. Arthur isn't. He's... kind of been on the outs with Uther since just before graduation when he decided to go into business for himself rather than join the family business. He bought the house because it is a good investment, and since we were all fresh out of university, unattached, and in need of a home, he suggested we all share the house and the bills that go with. I think he actually pays more than we do, but he will neither confirm nor deny this theory."

"Wow, that's... really nice. And, smart. Why didn't he want me to know?"

"He didn't think you would be comfortable living there if you knew he owned the house."

"Oh."

"Would you have agreed to move in if you had known?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I barely know Arthur anymore."

"Fair enough." He pauses. "Oh, um, Gwen?"

"Right, I don't know anything," she says, smiling.

The next night, she splurges on dinner, cooking steak for everyone. They protest at first, telling her it's too much, she shouldn't have.

"Too late. I've got all this steak seasoned and ready to go, so you lot are going to eat it," she says.

"What have we done to deserve such an excellent dinner?" Percival asks.

"Just my way of saying 'thank you' for letting me live here," she says, smiling. "You didn't have to, and I just want you to know I really appreciate it. Especially Merlin and Arthur, who both gave up having their own rooms."

"Anytime, Gwen," Merlin answers.

"He snores, you know," Arthur says, trying not to smile. He finds it inexplicably difficult not to smile when he looks at Guinevere.

"Piss off, so do you," Merlin shoots back, shoving his shoulder. "He meant to say, 'It's no trouble at all, Guinevere'," he adds, looking at her.

"I _meant_ to say you snore," Arthur protests, but he's laughing now, giving up on trying to hide it. He turns toward Guinevere. "But, I'm getting used to it." He's not laughing anymore, but there's a slight smile gracing his handsome features.

"Well, I am grateful, and I figured steaks would be something you lads would genuinely appreciate," she says.

"We're happy to have you in our home, and back on this side of the Atlantic," Leon says, stepping forward to hug her. Percival steps up next, hugging her much gentler this time, but he still completely engulfs her. Then, she hugs Merlin, kissing his cheek as well. She pauses in front of Arthur, then steps forward and carefully hugs him, not sure how he'll react. _Fifteen years is a long time._ His arms wrap around her with equal care.

He finds he wants to pull her closer, feel her body pressed against his, and bury his nose in her fragrant hair.

"Thank you," she whispers, stepping back and wondering why she suddenly feels warmer. A lot warmer. "Um, how do you all like your steaks?"

"Medium rare," they all say.

"Why did I even ask?" she mutters, lifting the tray and heading outside to the grill. She can still feel the warmth of Arthur's arms around her. The cool fall air is welcome against her flushed skin.

Inside, Arthur surreptitiously watches Guinevere through the window, her scent lingering in his nostrils, her smile imprinting itself in his memory.

She closes the lid of the grill, sets the spatula down, then stretches, her arms reaching up over her head, eyes closed. The hem of her shirt rises, and Arthur is treated to the sight of her toned stomach with its cute little bellybutton.

He doesn't realize he's staring until she opens her eyes and catches him. He quickly moves away from the window.

 _Oh, that's not obvious at all._ Arthur reaches into the refrigerator, needing something cold.

xXx

To Gwen's surprise, she found she liked living there. The guys were relatively tidy. Relatively quiet. Except during rugby or football, in which cases Gwen was just as loud as they, so it didn't matter.

They were respectful of her privacy. They didn't expect her to be their mum or maid. She cooked dinner one night a week for all of them, but Leon did so as well.

Merlin was fastidious about cleaning bathrooms. Leon could not abide a disorderly kitchen. Percival loved to mow the lawn. Arthur had a strange affinity for the vacuum cleaner. Guinevere was in charge of dusting.

She planted a few flowers outside. No one minded. Percival even complimented her about them.

Things were going well. Occasionally, Merlin and Arthur would snipe at one another, but they never stayed mad for long. Occasionally, someone would eat something of Gwen's or drink one of her flavored waters, but they would always apologize and often replace what they had taken.

Leon had a girlfriend, Mithian, who would regularly come over. She was always there when he cooked dinner. She was nice. Gwen liked her, and she liked Gwen. Leon and Percival had some sort of system worked out where if Mithian stayed over, Percival would be elsewhere. Sometimes, Leon would spend the night at Mithian's.

There were two bathrooms. Leon and Percival shared the master bedroom, which had an en suite bath. Merlin, Arthur, and Gwen used the other. Gwen always made sure to clean her hair out of the drain and the two men kept the sink free of whiskers and _attempted_ to remember to put the seat down. Occasionally. Gwen was realistic about the toilet seat, fully aware that she is outnumbered.

Then, one morning Arthur is running a bit late. Gwen is heading to the bathroom (usually free at this time) and finds Arthur heading out, hair damp and disorderly, a red towel slung low around his waist.

It suddenly occurs to Guinevere that she has been living in a house with four men for over two weeks, and this is the first bare chest she's seen.

And, what a sight it is. She pauses in her steps to avoid physically bumping into Arthur, and steals a moment to devote to memory his broad shoulders, well-formed pecs, and almost-washboard stomach. Her fingers twitch, wondering if the light covering of chest hair is soft or coarse, wondering if his ribs would be ticklish if she poked them.

"Hey, Guinevere. Sorry, overslept a little," he greets, his eyes quickly scanning her slender body, flawless skin, and shapely legs that somehow look longer than they should be for someone her height. Her toenails are painted lavender. Her hair is coming loose from its braid, little wispy curls sticking out every which way. He finds himself wondering if her skin feels as soft as it looks, if her sleep-soft lips are as luxurious as he imagines.

"It's fine," she answers, her voice almost a whisper, acutely aware of her rumpled appearance and lack of bra.

He smiles a tiny smile and heads to his room. Gwen risks a peek as he walks away, curious about the view from behind.

It's worth the risk.

She bites back her smile and turns to go into the bathroom.

She doesn't see Arthur turn back and give her a similar appraisal.

Merlin sees it, and lightly smacks him on the head.

xXx

One month. It's 8:45 a.m., and the house is quiet. Gwen has taken the day off and is basically alone in the house. Percival is home, but he's shut in his room, possibly still sleeping. A personal trainer, his hours vary based on clients.

Gwen is just fixing a cup of tea when the doorbell rings. She sets her cup down and goes to the front door, wondering who would be calling at this time of day.

She opens the door to see a delivery man with a box the size of a small refrigerator, resting on a dolly. "Yes?" Gwen says.

"Delivery for..." he looks at his clipboard, "Percival Armstrong." He looks up at her, eyebrows raised.

"Yes, he lives here," Gwen confirms, stepping aside so the man can wheel the box in. He sets it right in the middle of the entranceway, and it lands with a heavy thud.

"Sign here," he says, thrusting the clipboard at her. It turns out to be some sort of electronic tablet, and Gwen signs on the indicated spot with the stylus. "Have a good day," he says, leaving.

"You, too," she answers, shutting the door. The box is right in the way of everything. She attempts to move it, only to find she can barely budge it. "Bugger," she says. "What the hell did you get?" she wonders aloud, heading towards Percival's room.

 _Probably some sort of fitness equipment._ She knocks lightly. "Percival?" She listens at the door and hears nothing. _Heavy sleeper._ She knocks louder. "Percival?" she calls.

She hears grumbling that sounds vaguely like "Come in." She opens the door and pokes her head in.

"Percival? There's— oh! Um, sorry..." She quickly closes the door and leans against the wall, her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, trying to process what she has just seen.

Percival was still in bed, mostly asleep. He wasn't alone. A head of dark, longish hair was resting quite comfortably on his shoulder, attached to a different muscular shoulder leading to an equally impressive arm, which was draped across Percival's broad chest. The rest was a tangle of blankets.

The door creaked open and a red-faced Percival steps out, pulling a t-shirt on over a pair of shorts. "Um..." he says, not knowing what to say.

"No, sorry, sorry, I thought I heard you say 'come in', so I opened the door, and I _promise_ I didn't see anything... I mean, you were both covered... and... I guess I'm just... _really_ surprised!" she blurts.

"So was I," he says, sighing. He rubs his hand over his short hair. "Gwen, um... the lads don't know. I mean, I haven't told them. Yet."

"I won't say anything," she says, reaching over and squeezing his massive hand. "It's not my news to tell."

"Thank you," he says.

"But, you _will_ tell them, right?"

"Working up to it."

She says nothing for a moment. "Does he make you happy?"

"Yeah," he admits, a stupid grin crossing his face.

"Then, I'm good. They will be, too."

He nods. "I know. It's just... kind of new."

"I understand." She squeezes his hand once more, then releases it.

"What did you want, by the way?" he asks.

"Oh! A bloody great box arrived, and the delivery man left it in the middle of the foyer. I can't move it," she says.

"Oh, it's here already?" he asks, brightening. They walk to the entranceway, where he slides the box out of the way with relative ease. "New weight set," he explains. "I'll take care of it later."

"Right. Um, I was just making tea... do you and your... friend... want some?"

"You want to meet him?" Percival asks, eyes widening.

"Well, yeah," Gwen answers, as if it should be obvious. "What were you planning to do, sneak him out the window? Hide him under your bed all day?"

"I didn't know you were off today," he admits.

"Go see if he wants tea," she laughs, ineffectively pushing at her huge friend.

"All right, I'll go see if I can yank his arse out of bed," he says.

"Hey, Percival?"

"Yeah?"

"So, are you like, bi, or full-on gay, or what?" she asks, grinning.

He laughs, realizing his anxiety over telling his friends might be unwarranted. "Trying to figure that out. I still think _you're_ cute," he answers, winks, and disappears.

His name is Gwaine. He's Irish, charming, and hilarious. Where Percival is quiet and reserved, Gwaine is exuberant and charismatic. Gwen loves him immediately, and he loves her. She thinks he's perfect for Percival.

Encouraged by Gwen, Percival tells the lads the next night. He invited Gwaine to come watch rugby with them. Gwen is cooking, and makes sure to include a plate for Gwaine. They always eat in the sitting room with folding tables on game night.

"Um, lads, this is Gwaine," Percival introduces. "He's, um, I mean, he and I, we're..." He reaches over and takes Gwaine's hand.

"Your _boyfriend_?" Merlin asks, a slow grin starting.

"Sort of," Percival answers. Gwaine elbows him. "Yes."

There is a second of silence, then:

"Hey, nice to meet you, Gwaine."

"Do you work with Percival? Wait, you're not one of his clients, are you?"

"Hope you like spaghetti. Gwen's homemade sauce is the best."

Percival breathes, smiles over at Guinevere, and flops onto the couch. "He's not one of my clients," he says once the chatter has died down. "Well, not anymore."

There is laughter. Then, Leon asks, "So, when Mith stays over here, you've been going, where, his place?"

"Lately, yeah," Percival says.

"How long have you been seeing each other?"

"About a month... month and a half?" Percival answers, looking at Gwaine.

"Month and a half. I had to fire him as a trainer so I could ask him out," Gwaine says, chuckling. "Got tired of having to hide the fact that I kept getting a chub— ow!"

"Yeah, they don't need to hear about that," Percival interrupts.

"Besides, the game's on now," Arthur points out. "Guinevere, game's starting, Love. Can we come get our plates?" he calls to the kitchen.

"Yeah, just draining the noodles," she answers, not really taking note of how Arthur has addressed her. It's just something he occasionally says.

They all stand and head for the kitchen.

"I hope you're hungry, mate. She always makes enough pasta for an army," Arthur says, clapping Gwaine on the shoulder.

"My mum has the same problem," Gwaine says.

"Mine does that with potatoes," Leon says.

"So does mine!" Merlin adds. "Actually, she does both, come to think of it."

They file in, fill their plates, grab drinks, and head back out to watch the game.

"Hey, are Arthur and Gwen, like, together?" Gwaine quietly asks Percival as the second half is beginning.

"No," Percival answers as though the thought had never even occurred to him. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, he called her 'Love' earlier…"

"Yeah, he does that sometimes. I don't think he even realizes he's doing it."

"That's not helping your case," Gwaine points out. "Also, well, look at them."

Percival looks over at Gwen. She's sitting on a chair she's pulled over from the dining table, using Arthur's knees as a foot rest. Arthur is sitting in an upholstered leather chair, one hand clutching a bottle of ale, the other casually resting on Gwen's crossed ankles. During tense moments of the game, his fingers grip her leg, sometimes patting (or, once or twice, hitting) it. Gwen doesn't seem to mind or even notice, as she is just as involved in the game.

"So? Three days ago she was sitting on my lap," Percival says.

"No, _really_ look. You've been hanging around straight guys too much," he laments. "Oblivious."

"Well, considering I thought I _was_ a straight guy till recently…" Percival answers, watching Arthur, how his eyes flit to Gwen whenever there's a break in the action, either to the fuzzy purple feet on his lap or, once or twice, up to her face. His eyes soften when he looks up at her. Percival shifts his attention to Gwen, and sees she's doing much the same. She seems to be very aware of every move Arthur makes, every time his hand moves on her leg. As Percival watches, Arthur's fingers accidentally touch bare skin and he sees both of them react. Gwen's lips part and she blinks a few times. Arthur indulgently allows his fingers to stay there for a few seconds before clearing his throat and lifting his hand from her leg to scratch a surely-nonexistent itch before placing his hand back on her leg, a little further away from the cuff of her flannel trousers.

"Bloody hell," Percival whispers.

"What are you two whispering about over there?" Merlin asks, finally noticing their bent heads. "If you need some privacy or someth— ah!" his words are cut off by an expertly-thrown pillow, courtesy of Leon.

The game goes to commercial, and Gwaine speaks up. "So, Gwen, you live here with all these blokes and you're not... you know..."

"No, just friends. I have my own room and everything," she answers, slightly shifting in her seat. She's not terribly comfortable, and her butt is falling asleep. Arthur lifts his hand in case she needs to move her feet, but she leaves them there, stubbornly telling herself that she is _not_ enduring discomfort just to keep in contact with Arthur.

"You have to admit, it's a bit unusual," Gwaine says.

"We've known Gwen forever. She's our mate, and she needed a place to live," Merlin volunteers.

"I guess I've always been one of the lads," Gwen says, smiling.

There's a bit of sadness in her smile though. Gwaine sees it. He also sees the brief cloud that passes over Arthur's face.

"They should totally go out," Gwaine mutters.

"What was that?" Percival asks.

"You heard me. Game's back on," he says.

By the end of the game, Gwen has moved to sit on the floor. Merlin threw her the pillow to sit on. Arthur shifted his legs to the side so she could lean against his chair.

xXx

Two months. Merlin decides they're going to have a movie marathon. It's a Friday. They had all worked that day, but Merlin thinks six p.m. is a reasonable time to order up pizzas and watch the Cornetto Trilogy: _Shaun of the Dead, Hot Fuzz,_ and _The World's End._

Gwen makes sure to secure a seat on the sofa this time. She's learned if she doesn't assert herself, she gets stuck with the crap seat, dish drying duty, or no ale because someone else had gotten the last one.

However, because she is the smallest person in the house and still her usually-thoughtful self, she takes the middle seat.

Arthur plunks down on her right. Merlin puts the first movie on and scurries to the spot on her left. Percival takes the recliner and Leon is left with the upholstered leather chair. Gwaine is out of town and Mithian is having a girls' night with some of her friends (she invited Gwen, who declined), so it's just the five housemates.

"Too bad we don't have any Cornettos," Leon comments while they eat their pizza.

" _Do_ we have any, Guinevere?" Arthur asks.

"No. Percival ate the last one two days ago and no one has been to the market," she answers. "Thank you," she adds when he passes her another piece of pizza.

"The ham and pineapple is almost gone," he explains. "I know it's your favorite."

"Thank you," she repeats, softer.

After the first movie, they stretch, toss the pizza boxes, use the bathroom, and refresh their drinks. Leon attempts to steal Gwen's spot, wishing to improve his seat.

Gwen returns from the bathroom just in time to see Arthur preventing Leon from taking her place. She pretends not to notice, but feels a strange smile tugging at her lips as she goes to the kitchen for a bottle of water.

Three-quarters of the way through _Hot Fuzz_ , Percival falls asleep. Leon is nodding. Gwen is getting tired, too, but she loves these movies and is determined to stay awake out of her devotion to Simon Pegg and Nick Frost.

"We should watch _Paul_ sometime," Merlin says, yawning. "You know, the one with the alien?"

"Of course I do," Gwen answers. "It's hilarious."

"I haven't seen that one," Arthur admits.

"You haven't?" Merlin is shocked. "We'll have to remedy that."

"Not tonight," Gwen insists, laughing. Somehow, her head falls against Arthur's shoulder. He doesn't seem to mind, so she stays.

A minute later, he lifts his arm and wraps it around her. She relaxes against him.

Leon is asleep before the first alien gets his head ripped off in _The World's End._ Merlin follows ten minutes later.

"Guinevere, are you awake?" Arthur asks.

"Mmm-hmm," she answers.

"I... I need to use the loo," he says. She gets the feeling that wasn't what he intended to say.

"Oh." She sits up to allow him out.

He returns a few minutes later and sits. Gwen doesn't make any move to return to his shoulder.

"Um, if you were comfortable, you can lean on me again," he offers.

"Only if you don't mind," she says, glancing over at him.

"If I minded, I wouldn't have offered," he says, wincing inwardly. _Not the right thing to say._ "I mean to say, I, um... I liked you leaning against me."

"You did?" she softly asks. He nods and lifts his arm, inviting her back.

She shifts back over to him, accidentally kicking Merlin in the process. He snorts, but doesn't wake. She giggles. "A plane could hit the house and I would be the only one woken by it," she says.

"Probably," Arthur agrees, turning his head towards her. "You smell really good," he quietly adds.

"Thank you."

"You always do." His hand moves, searching for hers, and he closes his fingers around her small hand. "I really like you, Guinevere."

"I like you, too, Arthur," she says, hoping he's saying what she thinks he's saying. Her heart is pounding a mile a minute, but she endeavors to stay composed until she knows for sure.

"I don't think you understand. I _really_ like you," he clarifies, reaching up with his other hand and touching her chin with his fingertip, gently turning her face towards his. "A lot."

She looks up into his eyes and forgets how to breathe. "I _do_ understand," she says. "I understand… a lot."

His gaze drops from her eyes to her lips, then back to her eyes. They drop to her lips again, and he ducks his head and kisses her.

Guinevere sighs into the kiss, her body feeling warm and boneless as he shifts them, moving her onto his lap to gain better access to her lips. They part for just a moment, and when Arthur returns, his lips are parted, seeking more, his tongue coaxing hers to meet his.

"Does this mean you like me, too?" he asks, his thumb stroking her cheek, his other hand on her back, half touching skin, half touching shirt.

"Yes," she answers. "A lot." She smiles and kisses him, her fingers gripping his shoulders as they get lost in each other again.

"Wait," he grunts, groping for the remote controls. He switches off the movie and television, then stands, lifting her with him.

"We haven't finished the movie," Guinevere dumbly protests. _Shut up. You don't care._

He kisses her. "I know what happens _there_ ," he says, kissing her again. "I'm more interested in finding out what happens _here_."

"Oh…" she answers, breathless.

He takes two steps towards her room, then pauses. "I mean, if this is what you want," he says, suddenly realizing he's behaving like a caveman. "I don't want to push you into…"

She kisses him. "Keep walking, Arthur."

xXx

Merlin groans and stretches. "Ow..." he groans, his neck stiff from sleeping slumped on the couch. He looks around. Percival is still sleeping, but he can hear Leon moving around in the kitchen.

Not thinking a thing about the whereabouts of Arthur or Gwen, he shuffles to the bathroom, then to his bedroom, where he thinks about going back to bed for a bit. _Ugh, no, then you'll be up all night tonight._

Arthur's bed is empty and made, with his mail from yesterday still sitting exactly where it was when Merlin put it there.

 _Where is Arthur?_ He goes back to the kitchen and finds Leon is alone. "Have you seen Arthur?"

"Thought he was still sleeping," Leon says. "Tea? I'm cooking eggs, do you want some?"

"Yes, and yes, thanks. His bed hasn't been slept in," Merlin answers.

"How do you know that?"

"Because I put his mail on his bed yesterday, and it's still there. Hey, Percival." Merlin greets Percival, who has just shuffled into the kitchen.

Leon pulls another mug from the cupboard, knowing Percival will also want some tea.

"What's still where?" Percival asks, sitting.

"Arthur's mail," Merlin explains. "We can't find Arthur. His bed hasn't been slept in."

"Probably with Gwen," Percival says.

"Huh?"

"What?"

Percival looks up, smirking. "Gwaine was right. Oblivious," he says, chuckling. "Thanks, mate." He takes the mug Leon has offered and drinks.

"Oblivious to what?" Merlin asks.

Percival rolls his eyes. "Arthur and Gwen. They fancy each other."

"No..."

"Yes. Gwaine pointed it out to me last month. It's pretty obvious, once you take notice. They both think they're so subtle," he chuckles. "Arthur always has to know where Gwen is and Gwen can't even talk to Arthur without blushing."

"Bloody..." Leon says, realization dawning as he remembers the countless times he's heard Arthur ask, "Where's Guinevere?" or "Has anyone seen Guinevere?", or seen Arthur leave the room just after she has, trailing after her like a puppy following his mistress.

"Bugger me, you're right," Merlin says. "Well, don't _actually_ bugger me, Percival, it's just an expression," he adds, grinning fiendishly.

Leon spits tea across the kitchen. Percival's head falls onto the kitchen table, laughing.

"Her voice always gets a little softer when she talks to him," Merlin says once they've regained their composure.

"Or about him," Leon adds.

"And, this could be my imagination, but it seems like she touches him more than any of us. Like..." He reaches his hand across and rests it on Leon's forearm. "Or..." He stands and walks around behind Percival, casually resting his hand on the other man's shoulder as he passes.

"Our Gwen is a little flirt," Leon chuckles.

"Guys, we don't know for _sure_ he's with her," Percival reminds them. "I mean, I was just guessing, but it stands to reason."

"Let's find out," Merlin says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.

"What are you going to do, burst into her room and shout, 'Aha!'?" Leon asks, standing.

"Of course not. I'm nothing if not subtle," he says. He turns to leave the kitchen and accidentally kicks a chair, sending it skidding across the floor.

"Subtle. Right," Percival says, replacing the chair.

xXx

Guinevere slowly wakes, feeling cozy, relaxed, and _completely_ content. _I slept so well._ She scrunches, eyes still closed, and feels Arthur's warm embrace surrounding her. _I know why I slept so well._ She smiles and turns her head just slightly, pressing her lips to his collarbone.

"Mmm." Arthur's arms tighten around her. "Again," he mumbles.

She's happy to oblige, kissing his collarbone again, longer this time, followed by his shoulder.

"This is a good way to wake up," he says, his voice soft and sleepy. "Even if I'm not exactly ready to wake up."

"Your fault," she murmurs, her fingers tracing patterns in his (soft, not coarse) chest hair.

"My fault?" He cracks open one eye and peeks at her. She's the most beautiful sight he's ever seen, and he instantly knows this is how he always wants to wake up. He smiles and opens his other eye.

"Mmm-hmm," she says. "You were the one who kept getting _ideas_ last night." She cuddles closer to him, pressing against his side.

His one hand slides down to cup her backside, squeezing lightly, while the other skims up her arm to her face, where he tilts her chin up. "I didn't hear any complaints from you," he replies. "In fact, I can say with some authority that all the sounds coming out of this mouth," he traces her lower lip with his thumb, "were quite the _opposite_ of complaints." He grins, then leans down and kisses her, rolling them so she is beneath him.

"Ugh," they say in unison. "Morning mouth," Arthur adds, no longer talking softly. He makes a face that causes Guinevere to giggle.

They hear muffled talking on the other side of Guinevere's door. Phrases that sound suspiciously like, "Told you" and "I guess I owe you a fiver" followed by very obvious shushing sounds.

Arthur stares down at Gwen's amused, wide-eyed expression, shakes his head in mild exasperation, and resumes kissing her neck. He nudges his way in between her knees and presses against her, making his intentions quite clear.

"Arthur," she whispers, "they're _right_ outside." She can still hear slight movement and snatches of whispers in the hallway.

"I locked the door last night," he says, his lips brushing her skin, undeterred.

"They'll hear," she says, her resolve slipping away.

"Not our problem if they want to be creepers." He moves lower, working his way to her breasts.

Gwen gets a deliciously evil idea, a mischievous grin on her face. "Arthur! Oh, God, Arthur! Yes, ooo, right there, oh! Oh! Yes!" she yells, faking orgasmic passion in the most ridiculous way she can. Arthur collapses over her, laughing like a madman against her chest. "Ooo, yes, give it to me, Daddy! Oh, Baby!"

The sounds of hastily retreating feet accompanied by Percival's laughter reach their ears through the door.

"Bloody hell, Guinevere." Arthur lifts his head, still laughing. "It's a good thing I know that's not _really_ what you sound like when... you know..."

"Do you?" she teases, raising an eyebrow at him. "Are you sure?"

He props himself up on his elbows, positioning himself between her thighs again. "Oh, yes," he confidently answers. "Quite sure."

"Oh..." Guinevere sighs and wraps her legs around his hips, welcoming him in.

"You are most definitely _not_ one of the lads," Arthur says, kissing down her neck as he begins to move.

xXx

Later that day, Guinevere and Merlin traded rooms. Merlin was happy to have his own room back, and Arthur was very happy to "get an upgrade," a phrase which earned him a punch on the arm from Guinevere.

The next week, Leon proposed to Mithian, and a month later, they moved into a place together.

A month after that, Percival moved in with Gwaine, and Arthur and Guinevere took over the master suite.

Four months later, Arthur proposed to Guinevere, and they were married four months after that.

Uther came to terms with Arthur wanting to make his own path in life, and seemed to be fond of Guinevere. He even covered most of the cost of the wedding.

Merlin moved to his own place just before they were married, but nearly a year later, still spends a lot of his time over at Arthur and Guinevere's, helping them redecorate the other two bedrooms. His new girlfriend, Freya, is an interior decorator, and she's been very helpful with ideas for the nursery they will need in about six months.

Arthur is hoping for a girl.

Guinevere wants a boy.


	10. The Night Visit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Speculation scene, set pre-4x03. Inspired by Gwen's lack of surprise at seeing Arthur at her door in the middle of the night in 4x05. Rated T.

It was late. Guinevere had just finished tending to the king, who was finally sleeping. She could finally go home. It had been a long day and she was tired. All she wanted to do now was go home, take her shoes off and sit down. True, her workload had decreased significantly thanks to Arthur, but the days started early and ended late. Looking after Uther wasn't exactly an enjoyable task for her, but she took pride in her work and always made sure he was well cared-for.

 _You know I am not asking this lightly,_ Arthur had said. _I know how you feel about him. But you're the only person I completely trust to see to his needs._ He was holding both her hands in his, gently. She had looked up into his blue eyes and saw his concern for his father mixed with his love for her. How could she refuse?

 _All right. Because you are asking me, I will do this,_ she answered him.

 _This will be the only task you have. No more washing dishes, waiting on dinners, or laundering sheets. Your only job will to be taking care of my father._ He said. She nodded and he gave her a soft kiss on the cheek as his way of saying thank you.

xXx

As she walked home, she couldn't help but notice that there always seemed to be a guard just at the edges of her vision. _Curious,_ she thought, but guards are on patrol regularly around Camelot, so she really did not think much else of it.

Approaching her door, she spotted another guard not far off, and decided to give him a friendly wave. He awkwardly waved back and quickly disappeared around a corner.

Sighing, Gwen closes the door behind her. _Good to be home._ It is dark in her small house, but she knows every crack and corner. She has no trouble navigating her way through to light a few candles. Shoes off finally, she sits down on the bed and rolls her head side to side, back to front in a feeble attempt to stretch some of the tension from her neck. Uther had had a bad day today and therefore, so had Guinevere.

 _Hungry?_ Not really. Not yet. Now is the time to sit and be still for a few moments. Gwen sits, closes her eyes and listens to the quiet.

xXx

 _Tap, tap, tap._ Gwen's eyes open. _What was that?_ As unexpected visitors to her home tend to make her understandably nervous, she was immediately wary. She waits, not moving.

 _Tap, tap, tap._ This time she was sure it was her door. Cautiously, she creeps to the door.

"Hello?" Guinevere asks.

"Guinevere, it's me," comes a whispered voice from the other side of the door.

"Arthur?"

"No, it's a dragon."

She opens the door a crack and peeks out. A cloaked figure pushes through the door and immediately takes her in his arms. He kisses her at once, reaching back with one hand to close the door before returning it to caress her back. He leans into her, pressing himself to her, leaning her back. Her arms snake up around his neck as his cloak drapes over both of them and their tongues stroke and play with each other.

Arthur finally breaks the kiss, pulling back to look at Guinevere. She smiles at him, amused at how he always looks dazed after kissing her.

"Hello," he says, standing straight up but still holding her.

"Hello, indeed," she answers. Then she pauses, kisses him once and asks, "What are you doing here?"

Arthur looks at her for a moment as though he cannot quite remember. "Oh!" he says, and goes back to the door, opening it and reaching outside for something. He presents a picnic basket and says, "I brought you dinner."

Gwen smiles at him, then says, "Is that all?"

"Um… no. I had to see you. I…" he trails off, not quite knowing what to say.

She takes pity on him and asks, "So what did you bring?"

"Just some chicken and vegetables. It was all I could get from the kitchen right now."

"So I trust you did not cook this yourself?" she asks with a grin, remembering their dinner together all those years ago when he first confessed to having feelings for her.

"Still haven't learned to cook, no," he says sheepishly, pulling items from the basket as Gwen brings plates to the table.

xXx

As they finish eating, Arthur reaches across the table for Guinevere's hand. He holds it and looks at her. He's got that look in his eyes again, that look that says he sees only her and wants nothing in the world but her.

"You really are beautiful, do you know that?" he suddenly asks her.

"Thank you," she says softly, casting her eyes down and blushing. She never knows what to say to compliments. Arthur lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles. Then he stands and starts clearing the plates.

Gwen sits up straighter and stretches her neck again. Arthur sees this and sets the dishes down. He stands behind her and starts massaging her stiff neck and shoulders. She has worn her hair up today, so he has easy access to the tense muscles under her soft skin. She gasps as his touch sends tingles down her spine, but she soon relaxes as his strong hands rub and caress her skin.

Guinevere closes her eyes. Arthur is beginning to have trouble concentrating on the task he has started. He is distracted by the softness of her skin, the lavender smell of her hair, her very presence. Not to mention the vantage point he has down into her soft cleavage. He finds himself wondering if she would allow him to slip a hand inside her bodice… _Better not,_ he thinks glumly, determined to keep her virtue intact. At least for now. Instead, he drops slowly to his knees behind her and starts kissing her neck. She leans back into him, allowing him access to more of her. He kisses her ears, her collarbones, her throat. Gwen lets out a soft moan. Arthur wraps his arm around her waist and spins her around on her seat so she is facing him. She puts her hands on the sides of his face and kisses him passionately. He begins to stand, pulling her with him, and backs up till he feels her bed behind his knees. Still locked together, he sits on the bed, pulling her onto his lap. Arthur starts kissing her neck again, working his way down to her breasts.

Gwen leans her head back, but then in a moment of reason, says, "Arthur."

"Guinevere," he gasps between kisses.

"Arthur!" she says again, "We mustn't…"

He pauses. "I know," he says, looking up at her, breathing heavily. They stare at one another, not quite sure what to do with their predicament. Finally he gives her one more lingering kiss. He then scoots back on the bed so he is sitting with his back against the wall. He gathers her into his arms and they sit cuddled together, just enjoying being together.

Arthur feels something lumpy beneath him. "What am I sitting on?" he asks, reaching behind him. He pulls out a large piece of soft brown leather. Gwen quickly reaches for it, but he is too fast.

"What is this?" he asks, smiling.

"Well, it WAS going to be your birthday gift," Guinevere says, mildly irritated, "It's a new waistcoat I was making for you."

"You were making something for me?"

"Yes. Now may I have it please before you ruin it?"

Smiling, Arthur hands it to her, making a show of pretending not to look at it. He is genuinely touched that she would not only think of his birthday next week, but that she is making something for him.

"I'll act surprised when I get it, then," he says, kissing her on top of her head. She won't look at him.

"Great."

"Oh, don't be cross, I love it already."

"It's not much, I know," she begins, but Arthur cuts her off.

"It's from you. That's all that matters to me," he says, lifting her chin so that he can kiss her once more.


	11. Empowered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our Guinevere takes matters into her own hands. Pre 4x09. Rated E.

"Merlin, I need you to… Merlin? Merlin!" Arthur starts yelling for his servant as soon as he notices the other man is nowhere to be seen. He was expecting him to be waiting for him in his chambers when he returned from his evening council meeting.

"MERLIN!" he yells again, irritated now, dropping his belt on the table.

"I gave him the night off," a soft voice drifts out of the dim. It is coming from the direction of the sleeping quarters.

"Guinevere?" Arthur says, puzzled. And intrigued.

"I sent him to the tavern. With Elyan."

 _What?_ "Ah. Um, okay," the king says, blinking a few times as he sees a single candle being lit, illuminating Guinevere's lovely heart-shaped face. Her skin glows dark gold in the candlelight.

Uncertain and off-balance, he starts to walk over. She's sitting on his bed, one bare foot dangling over the edge, swinging idly.

"I'm tired of waiting for you, Arthur."

"What?" he chokes, stopping, this time saying it aloud.

"I don't believe I need to repeat myself."

"Guinevere, I…"

"Come here, Arthur."

He continues slowly forward, transfixed by her swinging leg with its tiny brown toes looking at him from beneath the hem of her skirt.

"I'm tired of being good. Tired of being proper."

Arthur says nothing, stunned into silence. Guinevere watches as he wages a silent war within himself, knight versus man, King Arthur versus Arthur, head versus heart. _And loins._

"Guinevere, we… we can't. I mean, we shouldn't…" he says, his reserve wavering near the end.

"I know," she says, a sly smile slowly playing across her face as she reaches out, for he is close enough to touch now. Her hands touch his stomach, his chest. She grabs a fistful of his white linen shirt and pulls him down beside her on the bed.

He blindly acquiesces, sitting. He raises a hand to touch her. Her arm, her face, somewhere… somewhere safe. _There is nowhere safe._ He drops his hand before it makes contact.

Gwen reaches for him instead, touching his face the way she has done so many times in the past. Her thumb strokes his cheek, rubbing against the blonde stubble starting to poke through; her fingers tangle in the soft hair behind his ear.

"Kiss me, Arthur," she says. Not a request. A command.

"Guinevere, I…"

"Arthur," she says his name again, her voice just slightly reproachful as the fingers at his face lightly rub his earlobe while her other hand boldly touches his thigh.

"Oh, God," he whispers, finding his head moving towards hers almost of its own accord. _I feel like I'm drunk._

Arthur's lips brush hers lightly, their satiny lushness sending a shiver down his spine. He hovers there a moment, hesitating with his lips a hair's breadth from hers, eyes closed.

He feels what is surely her tongue flick lightly yet seductively against his upper lip and his blue eyes fly wide open. He is faced with those lovely brown eyes of hers with their long black lashes and wise brows regarding him calmly, but he can see the fire there, the desire pooled behind those honey-brown irises as she watches him.

He curses under his breath and presses his lips to hers again, fully this time, surrendering to her demands. She parts her lips beneath his to snake that crafty tongue out again, and he meets it, sparring with it, massaging it with his own.

Gwen pulls her lips away eventually and leans in closer, still holding his face in her hand. She turns his face slightly and runs her tongue along the outer edge of his ear before whispering the words that completely unravel King Arthur of Camelot.

"I want you, Arthur."

Arthur feels her warm sweet breath against his ear, her slender strong hand on his thigh, and his manhood twitch inside his trousers. _Did she just say what I think she said?_

"Guinevere, I…" he starts, pulling gently back, looking down at her. She is still watching him with those lust-flooded eyes, daring him to turn her away. "I… I think I'd better go lock the door."

xXx

He returns to her, trembling slightly, her demeanor and bearing throwing him completely off balance. She is not his sweet, proper Guinevere. She is a temptress, bent on seduction.

 _I'm in trouble,_ he thinks, noting that the skirt of her dress has shifted higher still, giving him a view of a shapely calf leading down to a slender ankle.

Eyes trained on that mesmerizing limb, he stands next to the bed, wondering what she's going to do next.

She sees his distraction with her leg, and leaps on it. "I don't imagine you've probably seen my legs before," she says, a half smile curling one corner of her lips.

"Of… of course not," he stammers, his throat suddenly dry.

She hitches the skirt higher still, exposing her knee now, with just the smallest bit of thigh showing above it, tormenting him.

"Guinevere," he says, stepping even closer. Another step and he'll be back on the bed with her. _The bed which I now notice has been conveniently turned down already._ He swallows.

Gwen raises her leg up on the bed, placing it beside the other one, bent in front of her as she leans back on her hands. Arthur tears his eyes away from her knee just long enough to appreciate the amount of cleavage taunting him above her bodice, now thrust forward in her current position.

"Arthur, don't make me wait," she says plainly, reaching her hand out for his. She takes it and places it on her bared knee.

 _Oh God, her skin is so soft._ "You're sure you want to do this?" he whispers. _You will be my wife before long,_ he thinks, realizing that he's put off asking her for too long already.

Instead of answering him, she takes his hand again and slides it upwards, skimming it up her thigh and pulling him over her simultaneously.

Arthur closes his eyes, the sensation of her firm thigh under his hand too much for him to take. Almost. He drops his lips to hers, giving in, realizing deep down that there's no way he'll be able to stop now. _Somehow I don't think she'd take no for an answer anyway._

Gwen kisses him deeply, leaning up into him, reaching up for his shoulders, her hands finding their way into his hair, holding him to her.

He pulls away again, breathing heavily, staring down at her. A half smile on her face, she drops her hands to the hem of his shirt, pulling it up, raising it over his broad chest. Arthur sits back slightly and yanks the shirt off, tossing it to the floor before hesitating yet again.

"Guinevere, I'm not sure I can let you…"

"Arthur. I give myself freely to you," she says, cutting him off. She sits up herself and starts sliding her hands over his bare chest, feeling his muscles jump under her touch. "I want you to have me. I want you to be my first, hopefully my only," she adds, a hint of shyness turning up finally. "I want…" she pauses, searching for the words.

"I do, too," Arthur says, running a single finger along her cheek, down to her neck, where she captures his hand and places it over her breast. "Oh, God," he sighs, his voice shaky. "I want you so much it hurts, Guinevere," he admits. "I was going to wait until…"

"No more waiting, Arthur," she says, her voice quiet but commanding. His hand is moving slightly at her breast, feeling it, measuring it, enjoying it.

"But…" One last try.

"Shut up. Sire."

He chuckles a little in surprise, but her hands are moving again, stroking his chest, learning the feel of his muscles, feeling the soft yet coarse texture of his chest hair. Arthur draws in a sharp breath at her touch, and leans forward again, lowering his head to kiss her neck.

"Oh…" she breathes as his lips make contact with her skin, and his hand drops from her breast and moves around behind her, holding her. His other hand comes around to join the other, and before he realizes he is doing it, his fingers are searching out the laces in the back of her dress.

"Arthur," Gwen softly says his name as she drops her head back, his lips and tongue sending lines of fire down through her body as he kisses and sucks at the skin on her neck. Somewhere in her passion-fueled haze she reaches up and sweeps her hair out of the way, gathering it over her other shoulder.

He groans into her as he finally finds the tails of the lacing and pulls, lifting his head a moment to look over her shoulder and down, willing his trembling fingers to work, to free the laces, clumsy in their eagerness to have her willing body revealed to his waiting eyes.

Guinevere runs her fingers through his hair, making his scalp tingle. She feels him fight with her laces, hears him curse, and she takes his face in her hands again.

"Arthur, would you like me to do it?" she asks, planting a scorching kiss on his pouting lips.

"Please," he says hoarsely, dropping his hands.

Arthur's gaze is locked on her legs again, almost totally exposed before she slides off the bed and her skirts drop down, hiding them from view again.

He watches, transfixed, as she reaches up behind her, blindly pulling the laces free. _Of course she does this every day, idiot,_ he thinks. He angles his head. _She must have very flexible shoulders to be able to reach like that._

Smirking at Arthur's expressions, Gwen turns her back on him just in time for him to see the lacings pull free of the last eyelet.

"You're just torturing me now," he says, the anticipation thick in the room. His skin feels superheated and sensitive, his trousers feel too tight, and his head is swimming.

Gwen turns her head and gives him a heated look as she pulls the dress off, exposing one creamy brown shoulder, then the other. The dress slides lower, and her lovely strong back comes into view for just a moment before her dark brown curls drop back over it, brushing over her skin like a caress.

Arthur can take it no more and leaps forward, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her, helping her to push the gown the rest of the way off.

Suddenly it registers. _No underdress. No shift. She's been planning this._

_I don't care._

Gwen feels his body pressed against her back, feels the firm length of his manhood against her back as he slowly raises his hands to her breasts, taking one in each hand while he drops his lips to her neck again, kissing a line down to her shoulder.

"Oh…" he groans long and low as his hands acquaint themselves with her breasts, reveling in their softness, their hard sensitive nipples responding to his touches as if they are asking for them.

"Oh, God, let me see you…" he whispers, pulling back and turning her around, his eyes raking over her naked body, drinking her in, printing her image on his brain.

"Guinevere, you… you are just… perfect," he says, his voice still a bare whisper. He reaches out with one shaky hand, touching her waist, his fingers splaying at the curve of her hip, his thumb reaching up to stroke the bottom of her ribcage. "The most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She allows him to pull her closer, allows his hands to roam her body, loving the feel of them on her. She kisses his chest, closing her eyes a moment.

Then she lowers her own hands to the waist of his trousers.

Arthur's heart thumps again as he feels her pull the tie, and he pulls his feet out of his boots, stepping awkwardly but quickly out of them and kicking them several yards away.

Gwen boldly thrusts her hands down, sliding them into his trousers at the sides, her hands on his hips, his warm skin firm under her hands. She giggles as his body stiffens a moment from the surprise, then she pushes the trousers down, letting them fall at his feet.

Arthur steps out of them, then quickly bends to remove his socks as well. He stands before her now, his mind momentarily drifting back a few weeks ago when she made that surprise appearance in his bath.

"You are quite beautiful, too," she says, taking her own time to admire him, his golden skin glinting in the candlelight, the definition of his muscles sharpened by the deep shadows.

He smiles shyly at her compliment, and now it is her turn to reach a hand forward. She bites her lower lip as her steady hand touches his erect member softly, gently, just curious and sweet.

Arthur squeezes his eyes shut and drops his head back, reaching to grab a bedpost to keep his knees from buckling underneath him. "Oh, God…"

Her hand leaves him then and he feels her brush past him, back to the bed. Arthur opens his eyes and turns, forgetting to breathe as he sees her lying on his bed, naked, waiting for him.

"Come here, Arthur," she says again.

"I just want to look at you another moment," Arthur says quietly. It seems he can barely form the words.

"Very well, my lord," Gwen replies, stretching languidly on the bed, arching her back slightly; writhing just enough to make Arthur groan again as he rakes his eyes over her lithe form, trying to memorize everything in case this is just another frustrating erotic dream.

Surrendering entirely, he drops onto the bed beside her, hesitantly placing his hand on her stomach. He feels the fluttering within, the anticipation and need all just beneath the surface of her unbelievably soft skin.

"Guinevere…" he starts again, and when Gwen sees the intensity in his eyes, she stops him.

"Arthur, if you're going to ask me if I'm sure again…"

"No! No. I was going to tell you how beautiful you are again. How I've often tried to imagine how you looked beneath your gown, how you would look laid out on my bed like this…" he trails off, taking a moment to stroke her cheek and place a soft kiss on her waiting lips. "But it doesn't even compare. My imagination was woefully inadequate."

Gwen reaches her hand over, placing it on his chest. "Arthur," she says quietly, "show me what you have imagined. Make me your own."

"I…"

"The time for talking is over, Arthur." She pulls his head down to hers and captures his lips, nibbling lightly at them until he opens his mouth and thrusts his tongue deep inside, hungrily exploring with it while his hands explore her body.

Gwen slides her hand from his head downward, running it along his heated skin, finally feeling the beautifully-formed muscles she has long admired.

Arthur tears his lips away from hers with a whispered curse and climbs over her, covering her petite body with his, careful not to crush her. He brings his lips back to her, back to her neck this time, moving lower, lower, till they reach a waiting breast, where they close over its sensitive nipple.

Guinevere cries out at the contact and her fingers grip his head, tangling in his hair. Arthur's heart pounds as he lowers one hand, skimming it along her ribs, following the curve of her hip, down to her thigh, where it changes direction and moves up again until he feels the warm wetness of her.

"Oh, God," he moans against her, moving now to her other breast. He slips a curious finger between her folds, drawing forth another beautiful cry from her lips.

Gwen fights fire with fire, sliding her own hand down, trailing her fingers down his stomach to touch him again, bolder, grasping him fully in her hand. Arthur cries out now himself, pulling away from her breast and dropping his head between them for a moment, distracted and momentarily overcome.

He regains his wits and starts kissing again, familiarizing himself with her soft contours while his fingers resume their motions below. He slides one into her, allowing himself a small grin when she opens her thighs wider and sighs his name.

Gwen squeezes his shaft in response, moving her hand along its length. She allows herself a small grin when he again drops his head with a grunt. He moves his fingers, finding that most sensitive point, and Gwen's hips jerk upward from the bed as she shouts, "Oh!"

Arthur gently rubs the spot, and Gwen loses her grip on him, rendered weak.

"Oh, yes, Arthur," she whispers, pulling his head up, needing his lips. Her hand finds him again and gently starts to guide him to her, sliding her thighs against his hips.

"I'll… I'll try to be gentle," he says, looking down into her eyes, the knowledge that he will have to cause her pain a sharp shaft in his heart.

"It's all right, Arthur," she answers gently, kissing him softly, sweetly, almost innocently, a striking contrast to circumstances.

Arthur lowers his hips, her hand still holding him, helping him find his home. He pushes slowly forward, staring intently down at her all the while, drowning in the warm liquid pools of her brown eyes. He feels the barrier then, and stops, his blue eyes now searching hers, asking for permission one final time.

Guinevere takes one hand and skims it down his back, feather-light, causing goosebumps to rise on his skin. She lifts her face to his, and kisses her consent, her hand coming to rest on his rear, where it applies a gentle push. _Go; move._

He closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them again, watching her as he pushes through the barrier, and with a sharp cry and a sting of fingernails into the skin of his buttocks, he is fully sheathed within her, her virginity now his.

"I won't move until you tell me," he whispers in her ear, brushing his lips against the skin there, kissing her neck, her cheek, wiping the few tears that have stubbornly come forth.

Guinevere breathes again, not realizing that she had been holding her breath, and relaxes her hand on his backside, moving it higher again, to his shoulder, then his head, cradling the back of it while he nibbles softly at her neck.

She could hear the strain, the control in his voice when he whispered in her ear and realizes that this may be just as painful for him. The sharpness has receded now, leaving just a dull burn in its wake and she caresses his cheek with her fingertips and simply says, "Okay."

He slides back out, slowly, gently, carefully, and then forward again, slowly, gently, carefully. Still watching her. Still heartsore at causing her pain.

"Arthur," she says, kissing him, trying to tell him that she is fine, more than fine. She is flying. Soaring. Her heart swells, threatening to burst from her chest. "My love," she breathes, finally acknowledging the feelings she has been keeping so carefully tucked to the side, compartmentalized to keep from losing her mind.

His eyes fly wide at the endearment, and his hips move faster of their own accord. Guinevere moans softly, her eyes fluttering closed, her breathing going ragged.

Arthur moves within her, mindless to everything but the sensation of her, her small body beneath his, her shapely leg finding its way around his hip, her tight wet warmth surrounding his manhood.

_This is good. This is right. This is unbelievable._

"Guinev…" he abandons her name halfway through, instead lowering his lips to hers, kissing her fiercely, a passion he didn't know he possessed gripping him, taking control.

She grips his shoulders, matching his ferocity with her own, the pain a distant memory, thoroughly replaced with nothing but pure pleasure and the realization that her mind, body and soul are lost forever now, completely his. _Quite happily lost._

"Oh…" she mewls, almost a squeak, and Arthur's movements intensify again; faster, harder.

Gwen feels the pleasure, the unbelievable pleasure building, growing, pleasure that she never knew existed. Small breathy gasps are coming forth now as Arthur drives into her, his hand now at her breast and his lips on her neck. _I don't know how much more I can take. I—_ Her weak thoughts are interrupted when the dam bursts and she cries out his name, her body writhing in its climax, her leg locking around him, her one hand gripping a handful of his hair while the other squeezes his shoulder.

Arthur moves furiously now, his own release imminent, Gwen's only pushing him closer. She is still moaning and crying out when Arthur falls over the edge with her, flooding into her, his entire body tensing up around her; within her. He growls into her neck, sucking at the soft tender flesh there, biting a little as well.

Collapsing carefully over her, he rolls them so she is beside him, cradling her against his side as he withdraws himself from her.

Arthur reaches back and pulls the blankets over them. He kisses her forehead; he strokes her back.

"I love you, Guinevere," he says after a time. It comes out casual, almost nonchalant.

"I know," she says, her fingers tracing patterns on his chest. "I…" now it is her turn to hesitate.

He captures her fingers in his hand, lifting them to his lips where he kisses each one. "I know you have trouble saying it. But you've just shown me, and that's enough for me now. More than enough," he says gently, understanding her reticence.

They lay entwined until the lone candle is almost used up, saying little, mostly caressing and kissing, basking in each other's presence.

Eventually Gwen sighs and says, "I should go."

"No. Stay here. I want to spend the night with you in my arms."

"I shouldn't."

"I need you to stay, Guinevere," he says, burying his face into her hair, hiding, letting the break in his voice convince her.

She lifts his face and kisses him, again answering him with affection rather than words.

"At least let me change the sheet, then," she finally says. "We can't have Merlin be completely horrified in the morning."

Arthur laughs now, squeezing her to him, willing to grant her anything if it means she will stay.

xXx

"Faster, Percival, honestly, you really do need to work on being lighter on your feet! Being built like an oak tree doesn't guarantee victory, you know. You need to… to…" Arthur's sword drops and he trails off mid-sentence, his attention diverted by a certain maidservant approaching with a pitcher of water for the men.

"Oof!" Arthur falls, felled by the non-distracted oak tree that is Sir Percival.

"An oak may not be able to move, but it can still fall on a squirrel," Gwaine shouts, laughing from the side, "especially if a beautiful lady squirrel has taken his attention."

Percival gives Arthur a hand up and pretends not to notice the color that has risen in the king's cheeks. Arthur slowly walks away from the training field, wandering in the direction of Guinevere, almost as though he is being pulled.

Merlin smirks, the only one knowing the true reason for the king's distraction. He says nothing, though, and continues polishing armor at a nearby table.

"Fresh water, good sirs," Gwen says brightly, as if the day were any other day, and sets the pitcher on the table near Merlin.

"Morning Gwen," Merlin says, glancing up for a moment.

"Merlin, I trust you had an enjoyable evening?" she asks. Arthur reaches them and she pours a goblet of water for him. "My lord," she smiles and hands him the drink.

"Thank you, Guinevere," he says softly, his keen eyes searching her face, her actions, for any sign of… of _anything._

"Yes, the knights and I had a smashing time last night. Thank you, Arthur, for the rare night off," Merlin says, smirking again.

"Hmm?" Arthur asks, paying no attention whatsoever to his servant. "Oh, right, right…"

"Wonderful, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself. You don't seem too much the worse for wear this morning. I trust Sir Gwaine went easy on you, then?"

 _Did I dream it?_ Arthur drinks slowly, still watching her. His heart is pounding furiously, and he's trying not to think about what is threatening to happen in his trousers.

_I woke up alone, disappointed and naked. I could smell her scent clinging to the pillowcase, even to my skin, on my shoulder where she slept all night until she must have decided to slip away and return to her own home. My heart ached that she was gone; made me doubt that she had even been there. The sheet she had removed was nowhere to be seen._

_I do not normally sleep unclothed. My bedding does not normally smell of lavender. Nor does it normally have a single long curly dark brown strand of hair clinging to it…_

"Not really. I'm hiding my misery, actually, and doing so quite well, I might add. Oh, I'm sorry, I forget my manners. Did you have an enjoyable evening last night, Gwen?" Merlin asks, poking the skunk at last.

"I had a lovely evening last night, thank you," is all she'll say. "Now if you will excuse me, I am needed in the laundry."

Guinevere turns, and as she slowly passes Arthur, she gives him a smoldering gaze, her eyes finally giving her away. He forgets to breathe and suddenly feels at least ten degrees warmer.

As Arthur turns and watches her retreat, a breeze lifts a few tendrils of her hair, revealing a red mark on the side of her neck. Arthur smiles a small smile as she hurriedly lifts her hand, smoothing her hair back down, concealing the bite mark again.


	12. Silk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen makes an interesting discovery about Arthur during a jousting tournament. Rated T.

"What happened, Arthur?" Merlin asks frantically, helping Arthur down from his horse and into his tent. The king was nearly un-horsed by Sir Gwaine, something that never happens.

"I don't know, Merlin, my lance suddenly felt as heavy as ten lances," Arthur gasps, clutching his left bicep. "I'm sure Gwaine is off gloating somewhere," he adds darkly. "I'll never live this one down."

"Arthur!" Gwen comes flying into the tent now. "What happened? Gwaine never beats you!"

"Merlin, go check it out," Arthur says, sending his trusty servant/wizard out.

Merlin nods gravely, knowing that Arthur is in good hands with his queen tending him. "I'll check the lance itself first, then I'll go see Gwaine."

"Scan the crowd, too, please, Merlin," Gwen says over her shoulder, helping her husband with his armor.

"Do you need Gaius?" Merlin asks.

"No!" Arthur answers, too quickly. Then, "No, Guinevere is more than capable of tending me."

Merlin puzzles a minute, but, with more important things on his mind, he leaves.

"Arms up," Gwen says, lifting the last piece of armor off so that Arthur is just in his chainmail.

Arthur says nothing, removing his gloves, avoiding her eyes.

"Let's get this chainmail off," Gwen says sweetly, as if she is talking to a child.

Arthur lifts his arms and bends over with a groan, and Gwen heaves the heavy garment from his torso.

"You're so much stronger than you look," Arthur mutters.

"You always say that," Gwen chuckles, bending over him now to look at his injured arm.

"Looks like your own shield is what got you," she says, touching gently. "Gwaine's lance sent it into you, but this gash is from the edge of the shield."

She blinks a moment, seeing something lavender peeking from the hole in his padded jerkin. Lavender silk, the edges now stained with blood.

"Arthur?" she asks, fingering the material.

"Just a strip of cloth, nothing more," he says quietly.

"Is this from one of my old gowns?" she asks.

He nods, even blushing slightly. "I took one of your old dresses, one of the ones you wore before you were queen."

"This was one of my best," she says quietly. "I only had one silk one back then."

"I know. I took it and I take a piece of it with me whenever I go into any kind of battle. Whenever I'm away from you. Usually wrap it around my arm or someplace hidden. Depends on the size of the piece, really."

"Why this one?" Gwen asks. She doesn't ask why he does it; she knows already.

"Um… because of the color. It reminds me of you. Also… I like silk," he admits, his voice dropping to a bare whisper. "I like how it feels. And the fact that it was yours, that it was against your skin…" He lifts his hand and runs a solitary finger down her cheek.

"You are silly and sentimental, and I love you," she tells him, leaning over to kiss him.

"Does Merlin know?" she asks.

"He may suspect. It's hard to tell what he knows, now that his secret's out."

"True," Gwen allows, and resumes tending his wound, smiling over her husband's little secret.

The tent flap whips open again and Merlin reappears. Arthur looks down at Gwen, slightly panicked, only to see her calmly tucking the edges of the purple material higher, out of sight.

"It was the Lance," Merlin announces. "But the crowd is clean, so whoever did it must have fled."

"Hmm. Send—"

"Already done," Merlin cuts him off. "I've sent Sir Mordred and that new Druid knight, Sir Caedmon, along with Percival and Elyan."

"Very good. I must say, Merlin, that yours and Mordred's little subgroup of knights is coming in very handy, indeed," Arthur says, wincing slightly as Gwen finishes binding his wound.

"Thank you, Sire," Merlin grins. "I'm taking the lance back to my quarters so I can examine it," he says, turning to leave. "And Gwen, you might want to think about keeping your current wardrobe under lock and key," he tosses this last over his shoulder just before he disappears.

xXx

Arthur enters the royal bedchambers that night to find Guinevere clad in a silk nightdress, waiting for him.

"That's new," he breathes, stopping in his tracks.

"I was having it made, but after this afternoon, I made sure that it would be ready tonight," she says, walking slowly forward.

Arthur stands rooted to the spot, watching how the fabric moves, clinging to her body, sliding sensually against her curves.

She reaches him, and his hands immediately find her waist, sliding along the soft material, feeling it between his fingers, his eyes closed.

"Guinevere," he breathes her name, closing his eyes, luxuriating in her.

Gwen's heart skips at his touch, at the way he speaks her name. _Even after all this time, his touch and his voice still leave me breathless,_ she thinks, feeling the familiar quiver in the pit of her stomach.

She unbuckles his belt and tosses it aside before taking his hand and leading him to the bed. Arthur pulls his boots off as he walks, almost tripping himself in the process. At the bed, she pulls his white shirt over his head, mindful of his injured arm.

She no sooner tosses the shirt aside and he gathers her into his arms, pressing his body against hers, feeling the silk against his chest.

"Why silk, Arthur?" she asks softly, curling her fingers into his chest, her arms pinned between them.

"It feels as soft as your skin," he whispers into her hair. "I cannot think of silk without thinking of you."

Gwen gasps just slightly at his sweetness, his sentimentality, even the fact that he is able to surprise her at all anymore. She lifts her face to his and he accepts the invitation, kissing her softly.

He pulls her down onto the already turned-down bed, slips out of his trousers and climbs in beside her, pulling her flush against him. He groans low in his throat as he pulls the material of her gown around him, wrapping it around his lower half while he wraps his arms around her upper half.

"When did this little obsession of yours begin?" Gwen asks, tilting her head up to look at him.

"Full of questions, you are," he rumbles, hiding his face in her hair, slightly embarrassed.

"I'm just curious," she shrugs.

He emerges from his hiding place. "Remember when we rescued your brother? And you brought those two silk dresses in to complete our ruse?"

She leans further back, looking up at him suspiciously. "Arthur, what did you do to those dresses? They were borrowed, you know."

"I didn't _do_ anything, Guinevere," he laughs, pulling her close again. "I'm not that way. I happened to lay my hand on the back of the chair where you had laid them, and it was like my hand had been burned." She feels him rubbing the silk of her gown between his fingers at her back, remembering.

Gwen furrows her brows.

"It called to mind the few times I had touched your skin. At that point, they were very few."

She smiles now, and kisses his chin.

"It just kind of built from there," he admits, gazing down at her. He moves his one arm and runs the palm of his hand down her arm, from her shoulder to her wrist. She watches as he closes his eyes just as he did when he was feeling the silk of her gown.

Arthur opens his eyes again, just long enough to lower his lips to hers and kiss her ardently, slowly sliding his arms and legs, pressing his hips forward, anything to feel her silk-wrapped body as much as possible.

"This is a deadly combination, my love," he mutters against her lips. "You, this silk gown, and our bed." He trails his lips down the side of her neck, placing small, wet kisses on her silken skin.

"I suppose I should tell you, then…" she whispers, lifting her hand to run her fingers into the silken threads of his hair.

"Tell me what?" he lifts his head. Then he pecks her lips once, as if he is unable to be so close without kissing her.

"I'm having new sheets made for our bed," she tells him, kissing him sweetly in return.

"Oh?"

"Silk ones."

Arthur's eyes widen and he grins, capturing her lips with his own again, leaning over her now, his tongue exploring the familiar interiors of his wife's mouth.

_Even that is like silk._


	13. Solstice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Gwen exchange gifts during the Winter Solstice celebration. Rated T.

It is the winter solstice in Camelot, a time for feasting and gift-giving. Holly branches and mistletoe are everywhere, and the chill in the air makes everyone bustle about quickly, if for no other reason than to stay warm.

The king and queen are presiding over the solstice feast, enjoying the food and the merriment. Arthur steals glances at his beautiful queen whenever he can, her dusky skin glinting gold in the firelight. She smiles often, making his heart leap each time he sees it.

 _When is this feast going to be over?_ he thinks, despite the fact that he is laughing. Gwaine is stealing a kiss from one of the cooks that has passed beside him. He has parked himself beneath a mistletoe branch, and no one is safe. He even kissed Percival – on the cheek – when he carelessly wandered past.

Guinevere is also growing weary of the celebrations. She is tired, and wants nothing more than to go back with Arthur to their private chambers, where they can be alone. She is itching to give him his gift. Gifts. She looks down at her goblet of wine, untouched, and reaches past it to another goblet, this one containing water. She drinks from it, sighing as she sets it on the table. She looks at Arthur. He seems to really be enjoying himself. _I shouldn't be selfish. If he's having fun, we'll stay as long as he wishes._

He catches her watching him, and reaches for her hand. He lifts it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. Suddenly he leans over and whispers in her ear, "When is this going to _end?_ " His warm breath caresses her neck and his lips graze her ear, sending a thrill down to her toes. She looks at him, surprised. _I thought he was having fun,_ she thinks.

"Are you not enjoying yourself?" she asks.

"Not as much as I could be," he gives her a smile that makes him look like the devil himself. Gwen blushes, hoping that no one notices his lustful expression.

Merlin has. He knows that the king is anxious to give his gift to his wife, and he picks his way through the crowd towards them.

"Why don't you just retire?" he leans over, between them, speaking so they both can hear.

"We couldn't," Gwen protests.

"Do you think anyone would care?" Arthur asks, looking around the room. No one is paying them any notice. People are even leaving, often in groups of two.

"Go. If anyone asks, I'll come up with something," Merlin tells them.

"Just tell them that I was sleepy and wished to retire," Gwen suggests. It is not far from the truth anyway.

"Sounds good," Merlin says, standing up and stepping to the side so that the king and queen can exit.

Arthur and Gwen nod to the few courtiers that notice their exit, and make their way out of the hall. Merlin looks at the table and notices Gwen's full wine goblet. _That's odd,_ he thinks.

Alone at last, Arthur is sitting in front of the fire, waiting for Gwen. She is changing, having expressed a wish to put her nightdress on "just to be comfortable." He knows she wears the finery she has when she has to, but at heart she is still just a simple blacksmith's daughter, and he loves her for that.

Gwen approaches quietly and sets Arthur's gifts down on a nearby table. She makes her way to his side in front of the warm fire, where he is sitting on a pelt spread on the floor, boots and mail off. She snuggles in close beside him, tucking her cold feet under a blanket he has on his lap. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer so that he can kiss her. They kiss languidly for a few minutes, enjoying each other, tongues stroking slowly, his hand on the side of her neck.

He pulls away reluctantly and tells her, "I want to give you your gift." His voice is quiet and hoarse. He reaches behind him and presents her with a small box.

Gwen takes the box. There is a red silk ribbon around it, which she removes, and opens it. Inside is a beautiful necklace, a large emerald pendant set in gold filigree on a gold chain.

"It's beautiful, Arthur," she says, lifting the pendant into her hand.

"It was my mother's," he tells her. "I found it in my father's room, when they were… cleaning it."

She looks up at him and recognizes the tight expression on his face. _He is still grieving,_ she thinks, _I wish he would remember that he doesn't have to put on that brave face for me._ She reaches up and cups his cheek in her hand. "Thank you, Arthur, I love it. I love you."

She kisses him softly, closing her eyes as she leans her forehead against his for a moment. "Your turn," she whispers, and crawls over a bit and grabs her gifts.

She hands him the first, a rectangular wooden box with a carved lid. He opens it and inside is a beautifully wrought dagger, the handle smooth and perfect, the blade shiny and – he tests it – sharp. The Pendragon crest is nestled in the butt of the handle. He lifts it, and finds the balance and weight pleasing, and the size well suited to his hand, as if it was created for him.

"Very nice, Guinevere. _Very_ nice, indeed," he compliments, still admiring it.

"Thank you. I made it," she shyly states.

"You _what?_ " He is flabbergasted.

"I made it. Elyan helped, just a little, but most of the work is mine."

He stares. He is shocked. Moved beyond words. He opens his mouth, but finds that there aren't any words in his brain.

Gwen smiles, pleased and amused at his reaction. _Wait till he sees the next gift,_ she thinks ruefully.

Arthur leans forward, carefully placing the dagger in the box, and reaches for her, kissing her thoroughly before he is able to speak again. "Thank you. It's wonderful." He reaches for her again, but she stops him.

"I have one more for you," she tells him, gently pushing his chest.

" _More?_ Guinevere, I thought we agreed…" he begins protesting, irritated at her blatant disregard for their agreement: _One gift only._

"Just wait and see," she says, and hands him another box.

He opens it, and pulls out a small, soft piece of material. It's a blanket. _This is much to small for an adult…_ he thinks, as the pieces slide into place. Gwen can almost hear the _click_ as the puzzle is completed.

"Guinevere? Truly? You're…?"

"Yes, Arthur, you're going to be a father." She smiles at him. He looks like he is about to jump out of his skin.

He grabs her and pulls her to him, squeezing tightly, then he eases back suddenly, flustered, fussing, "Oh, I probably shouldn't squeeze so tight, should I? Are you all right?"

Gwen laughs at him. "Arthur, I'm fine," she reassures him. He is looking at the blanket again, fingers toying with the edges, fidgeting.

"When?" he finally asks, his voice catching. He sets the blanket aside to take her hands.

"Late next summer," she tells him, leaning forward to kiss him.

"And… everything is good? You've seen Gaius?"

" _Yes,_ Arthur, everything is fine. Gaius is the only one that knows. Merlin doesn't even know yet," she smiles again, eyes twinkling.

"Good," he declares. _I deserve to know before anyone else,_ he smugly thinks. Gwen laughs at him again, understanding his thoughts, gently mocking his pride.

He stands, pulling her with him. He sweeps her up into his arms and strides across the room to the bed, where he gently lays her down.

He sheds his shirt and trousers and climbs in beside her, reaching for her. Then he stops. "We can still…"

"Yes, Arthur, it's perfectly safe," she tells him, pulling him to her.

"Good."


	14. Showdown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Merlin and Agravaine's confrontation in 4x13, my imagining of a final showdown between Merlin and Morgana. Arthur is present as well. Rated T.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't Arwen, but Guinevere and Arthur are married.

Arthur has never been in so much pain in his entire life. The world is hazy and thick. As he slowly and painfully rouses, all he can feel is pain and ache. His side is on fire and his breathing comes difficult. _Must have some broken ribs poking a lung._ He can't move his arms or legs; they are bound. His left ankle feels as though it is the size of a tree trunk.

He opens his eyes. Eye. One is swollen shut and will not open. He can feel cold stone beneath him. Above him he sees clouds, moving swiftly across the sky, and the air is cool and damp. He can hear water. He turns his head as best he can. Stone walls. Ruined stairs. A grey courtyard. _The Isle of the Blessed._

"Ah, you're awake, brother," a familiar voice, a voice he somehow knew he would be hearing, drifts across to him.

"Morgana," he croaks. It hurts.

"Arthur." She floats into view. A vision in black, cold hard eyes heavily lined with kohl, smirking at him. "I finally have you where I want you."

Arthur struggles, to no avail. Morgana laughs.

"Fool! I have enchanted the ropes binding you. You may as well be trapped within stone."

"Is your… lust… for power, your… thirst… for revenge… _that_ strong yet… that you… will have me… dead? Your… brother. Your… only… family?" he gasps, each phrase feeling like a knife in his chest.

"We both know that I deserve Camelot," she snaps at him. "I am the eldest, after all, and after all Uther has done to my kind, the least I deserve in recompense is his kingdom."

Arthur is done trying to reason with her. He growls menacingly, "You… are the… bastard… by-product… of a meaningless… fling! I… am the… true… and _legitimate_ heir… to Camelot's… throne."

Morgana's eyes flash. A wave of pain courses through Arthur's body, and he screams.

"That is precisely the reason why you must die," she growls at him. "And once you're gone, I'll have to deal with your precious _pregnant_ Queen Gwen. Being with child, she— _they_ should be easily enough dispatched."

Arthur flies into a rage of pain and fury hearing her threaten Guinevere this way. "NO!" he screams, but his anger only fuels Morgana's delight, and she laughs again.

"Enough talk!" Morgana shouts. "Time to die, Arthur Pendragon," she spits his name out.

Morgana produces a dagger from her belt. She holds it down for Arthur to inspect.

"Recognize it, brother? It is the same one you gifted me for my birthday those years ago. I thought it fitting."

Arthur says nothing, his face a mask of stone.

Morgana raises the dagger over her head to plunge it into Arthur's heart.

"Morgana," a familiar voice says calmly from the shadows. Morgana looks up. Merlin is walking slowly and serenely towards them. "If you value your life, you will release Arthur. Now."

"Merlin… what…" Arthur begins, but he is cut off by Morgana's laughter.

Morgana drops her arms down a bit as she laughs at Merlin. "Merlin," she says with as much disgust as she can manage. "What are _you_ going to do? Besides stand there and watch your beloved master die painfully?"

She raises her arms above her head again, and thrusts them downward. Merlin doesn't move a muscle. His eyes flash and her arms are stopped less than a foot from Arthur's chest.

Morgana's eyes fly open wide in shock, and she screams in frustration and surprise. "YOU!" She looks at Merlin, realization dawning on her. She cannot move.

Merlin takes another step closer, eyes fixed on the dagger. He looks quickly to one side, and the dagger flies out of Morgana's hands and smashes into a stone wall. It hits with such force that it chips the stone, and the dagger hits the ground, its blade bent. Several of the jewels that had been set in the handle roll away.

Arthur watches mutely, in complete shock. _I must be dead. That's the only explanation._

Merlin lifts his right hand, palm facing out, towards Morgana. His eyes flash again, and she feels her feet sliding across the flagstone floor, as if she is being pulled backward. Her back and head hit a wall, and she crumples to the ground, momentarily unconscious.

Merlin flicks his left hand effortlessly and Arthur's bindings come free. He rolls off the altar and falls to the ground, weak and in unbelievable pain.

"Arthur, get out of here while you can. I don't know how long she'll be unconscious."

"Merlin… you… you're…"

"Yes, Arthur. Now _go._ "

Arthur tries to stand, but finds he is unable to do so. _How long was I tied to that table?_

Merlin takes a step towards him, and Arthur jerks back, suddenly afraid of his servant; the man he has called friend.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Arthur. I only use my powers for good. I only ever have." He starts moving again, deliberately, keeping his hands in sight. _Not that it would do any good, but it will make him feel better,_ he thinks.

Merlin crouches next to Arthur, and places his hand gently on Arthur's side, where the broken ribs are. He mutters a word, his eyes lighting. Arthur feels the pain disappear and he takes a deep breath, suddenly able to breathe easily again. Merlin looks him dead in the eye, trying to reassure Arthur that he means him no harm. He moves his hands to Arthur's ankle and repeats his actions, healing that as well.

Before placing his hand over Arthur's swollen eye, he stops. "May I?" he asks, knowing that Arthur is still uneasy and that his hand on his face may be pushing too far.

Arthur takes a deep breath. _I feel as though I've gone insane._ "Yes," he says, and he closes his working eye.

Merlin places his hand on Arthur's eye. His hand is very warm, but rough. A moment later, Arthur is able to see clearly from both eyes again.

"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur says, still bewildered and in shock. Merlin stands and helps Arthur to his feet. Merlin strides back to his hiding place and returns with Excalibur and his staff. He hands the sword to Arthur.

"Get out of here. You don't want to be around for this," Merlin tells him.

"Merlin, I… I don't know what to say. I…" Arthur says.

"Say goodbye, Arthur. I will see you back at Camelot."

"All these years, I…"

" _Arthur,_ this is not the time. _Go._ "

Arthur stares, not knowing what to make of Merlin now. He has magic. Powerful magic. He seems perfectly calm, not the least bit frightened of facing Morgana. He saved his life. Again. _At least I'll have the ride home to mull this over._

Merlin is tired of waiting for Morgana to wake up. He walks over to where she is lying in a heap. _She is either still out or feigning._ He pokes her with the butt of his staff. She moans.

"Wake up," he commands. She stirs further. He waits, staff in hand, ready. He takes a step back.

"Morgana. Wake up."

She sits up and opens her eyes. As soon as she sees him, she remembers what happened.

"You!" she spits, struggling to her feet. Merlin stands coolly, watching her every move.

"Me," he replies finally.

"You're… _you're_ Emrys?" she asks, hoping she's wrong.

"Yes," he says simply. "And your time is done, Morgana."

Morgana looks around, deciding her strategy. "We could be so powerful together, you and I…" she tries. "We could rule _together._ Bring magic out of hiding, restore our kind to the glory we deserve." She takes a step forward.

"Do you expect me to believe that? You have no capacity for forgiveness, for love, for honor. Do you expect me to believe that you would _share_ your power with me? With _anyone?_ How stupid do you think I am? You want revenge. You want destruction. But no matter how many lives you take, how much power you gain, you will still feel _empty._ No one loves you, for you have pushed everyone away that was foolish enough to have done so. _Everyone._ Even if you get what you _think_ you deserve, you will always be a lonely, miserable, wretch."

Morgana thrusts a hand forward and hisses an incantation, intending to throw Merlin back. He is too fast for her and deflects her curse with his staff, blowing a nearby boulder to pieces. She stares.

He points the staff at her. "Don't," is all he says. A gentle warning, uttered softly.

Morgana tries again, a different strategy. She focuses her attention on a high stone on the crumbling wall. Her eyes flash and with a word, it comes flying down towards him. Merlin glances in its direction and it stops in mid-air. He thrusts a hand towards her and she doubles over. The stone block falls harmlessly to the ground. The lack of effort he is showing is beginning to unnerve her.

She pulls at a necklace she is wearing, a locket. Merlin doesn't know what's in it, but he shatters it between her fingers with barely a syllable. She pulls her fingers away, hissing in pain.

"You cannot defeat me, Morgana. You may be powerful, but my powers are greater. I've been wielding them far longer. I am capable of doing unimaginable harm to you. I could make your heart stop beating," he pauses, demonstrating this for just a moment. She clutches her chest, eyes wide with fright.

"I could make you feel excruciating pain with no cause."

She screams, falling to her knees. A second later she is able to stand again, breathing heavily.

"I could make your hair turn to spiderwebs, complete with spiders."

Her hands fly to her head, finding no change. She glowers at him and the corner of his lip twitches just slightly.

"I could make your brain explode inside your skull."

She begins to feel the pressure build in her head. A trickle of blood oozes from one nostril. She clutches her temples, screaming, "No!" It subsides.

"I could make you go blind."

The world goes dark. She gasps, reaching for the wall behind her.

"And deaf."

Silence.

Then the world comes back in a flood. Morgana is going out of her mind, wondering what's coming next.

"I could produce insects to creep under your skin."

Morgana raises a hand and sees large bumps raise on the skin on the back of her hand. They start to move up her arm. It is horrific to watch and excruciating to experience. She shrieks, becoming unhinged. The bumps reach her elbow and then disappear.

"You see, Morgana, I _could_ do all these things to you. And much worse." He takes a step towards her, still pointing his staff at her, still eerily calm and serene. He hasn't even raised his voice.

"But I won't. Do you know why?"

She shakes her head violently, unable to speak.

" _Because death is too good for you!_ " he suddenly shouts. He points his staff directly at her and shouts an incantation. His voice has taken on an otherworldly quality, as if there were a chorus of voices coming from his mouth.

Morgana is thrust back against the stone wall, as lights from Merlin's staff reach out and surround her. She feels a painful tingle all over, as if her skin is being pricked with millions of tiny needles, and suddenly the lights change direction and retreat back into Merlin's staff. The tip is glowing.

Morgana, panting heavily, reaches out with a hand and shoots a curse at Merlin. Nothing. She tries again. Still nothing. With the third attempt, Merlin shoots a curse back at her, and her voice leaves her.

"See this light?" He waves the staff slightly. "It is your power. And your voice. I will leave you with neither. Just your life. Your pitiful, lonely, _pathetic_ life." With that, Merlin thrusts the staff skyward, chants one last time, and the light in the end of his staff shoots up to the heavens. The sky crackles with lightning, then is still.

He turns and walks away. At the edge of the courtyard, he turns back to look at her. He speaks another word, and with a golden flash of his eyes, her memory leaves her and she collapses to the floor, spent but alive. Merlin disappears into the thicket.

Merlin continues down the path leading to the lake. A short distance along, he stops. He is not alone.

"I know you're there; please show yourselves," he calls.

Three Druids emerge from the trees, two men and a woman.

"Emrys, you have been most merciful," the older of the two men says.

"Killing her would have been more so," Merlin says simply.

"You erased her memories."

"I erased her memories to protect Arthur, not to give her comfort."

"Whatever the reason, both results were achieved."

Merlin regards them for a moment, unsure of what to say. Finally, "Too many lives have been lost already." The Druids nod.

"We will look after her," the woman speaks. Her voice is low and rich, like music. "We will give her a name and a home. We will ensure that she troubles you no further."

"I am indebted to you all, thank you," he says.

"No, it is we who are in your debt, Emrys," the first man speaks again. "Now go. Your king is waiting for you at the shore."

Merlin reaches the end of the path and sees Arthur standing at the water's edge, looking out over the still lake. He appears deep in thought.

"I thought I told you to go," Merlin says, walking forward.

Arthur spins around, surprised. He is still a bit on edge. "This boat has no oars, Merlin."

"Get in," Merlin tells him. Arthur doesn't move; he isn't sure what to do.

"Arthur, I'm still me."

"Yes, but you're just… spookier," Arthur watches him.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Get in the damn boat, Sire, or you'll never get off this island."

Arthur sighs and complies, sitting in the boat. Merlin climbs in after him, and the two men sit facing one another. Merlin mutters a word and the boat starts moving.

They ride in silence for a bit. Finally, Merlin speaks. "You needn't fear me, Arthur."

"I'm not afraid."

Merlin raises an eyebrow and Arthur flinches, just slightly. Merlin tries to hide his smirk; Arthur tries to hide his embarrassment.

"I'm mostly... in shock. You, of all people. _You,_ the one person I have trusted with my life again and again, the _one_ person who has been unshakably loyal to me."

"But don't you see, Arthur, that's just it. You have trusted me with your life, and I have protected it. Again and again. Whether you knew it or not; whether you wanted it or not. I never intentionally deceived you. What I said back there about using my magic only for good was the truth. The absolute truth."

"You could have told me," Arthur says after a minute.

"How, exactly? 'I've polished your boots, done your laundry, and cleaned your room, my lord. Oh, and by the way, it's quite possible that I am the most powerful sorcerer in the land?' Oh yes, that would have gone over _quite_ well."

Arthur laughs despite himself. "Yes, I suppose you're right."

"Magic is banned. When your father was alive, I _knew_ my life was in danger. Always. I had to keep it a secret to keep my life. When he died, I watched and hoped for any sign that you would open your eyes to the possibility that magic is not evil. I looked for any opportunity to tell you, Arthur. But every time you started to see that magic wasn't inherently evil, something happened to make you step back behind the wall of fear and ignorance.'

"Like my father's death," Arthur says, looking down, remembering Gaius' revelation.

Merlin nods. "Like your father's death. Morgana managed to thwart me every time. With Agravaine's help, obviously. Please know that I was truly trying to help your father. It would have worked if not for their interference."

"I know." Arthur looks up. "Wait. That was _you?_ The old man?"

"'Course it was," Merlin says casually, "do you really think it takes me ten entire minutes to have a pee?"

"Why, you little..." he starts, but he is smiling.

A thought occurs to Arthur. "So, have you been studying with Gaius all these years?" he asks, remembering that Gaius had studied magic before it was banned.

Merlin smiles. "No. I was actually born with these abilities." He snorts. "If anything, Gaius could study with _me._ "

"Does he know? Gaius?"

"Yes. He is the only one. Until now. The only one still alive, anyway," he looks down. _Mordred,_ he thinks, wondering what has become of the boy.

"Still alive? I thought you said..."

"Agravaine learned the hard way. Just before he died. Just before I killed him for his treachery. In fact, many that have tried to kill you or attack Camelot learn that you have magic on your side just before they meet their unfortunate end."

"Like Morgana," Arthur says.

"She is not dead," Merlin admits.

" _What?_ You let her _live?_ " Arthur shouts.

"Yes, but she is no threat to us any more, I promise. She has no powers; I stripped her of them. I also took her voice. And erased her memory."

Arthur stares at Merlin again. He finds he is actually impressed at his friend's ingenuity. _I guess I'm going to have to get used to this._

"The Druids are taking her in. They have promised me that she will no longer be able to cause us any harm."

"And you trust them?"

"Absolutely."

"Merlin, I..." Arthur starts.

"No, don't. There's no need." He pauses. "Arthur, you have a destiny. You've known this for some time. What you do not know is that I also have a destiny. It is my destiny to help you, protect you, so that you may become the king you are supposed to become. If that means suffering a little verbal abuse from time to time, so be it. If that means polishing armor and shining boots and mucking out stables and suffering your fits of temper and cleaning up after your slovenly habits..."

"I get it, Merlin," Arthur chuckles. Then he grows quiet, considering this new information. Destinies intertwined. After a time, he looks at Merlin and says, "Thank you, my friend."

"Any time, Arthur."


	15. A Land of Myth and a Time of... Zombies?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little silliness for Halloween. What if Zombie!Lancelot from 4x09 really was a zombie? Rated T.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This may be the most ridiculous thing I've written.

"Take care, Morgana Pengragon, for the consequences of your actions will be dire should one word slip out of place," the blind crone had warned.

xXx

"Lancelot?" Guinevere calls softly as she enters the great hall, twisting the silver bracelet he gave her absentmindedly around her wrist. _What am I doing here?_ she wonders. _I love Arthur. I'm marrying_ Arthur _tomorrow._

 _But I cannot seem to pull away,_ she realizes as her feet keep propelling her forward, towards the black shape behind a pillar.

She sees him then. _He looks… pale. And he's been even quieter than usual today, saying nothing since the final joust._

Gwen approaches him, still pulled by some unseen force, drawn to the wrong man. "Lancelot, are you all right?" she asks, reaching her hand up to his face.

"Uh…" he answers noncommittally.

 _His skin looks… grey,_ she notices, and her hand hesitates. But still she leans closer. Closer, and his arms find her narrow waist and his head tilts.

Then the smell hits her.

_It smells like… meat that has been left sitting in the sun too long. Is that smell coming from him?_

Lance dips his head, and something sparks in Gwen's brain. Triggered by his odd pallor or his smell, who knows, but as he turns his face towards hers, he bares his teeth instead of delivering the kiss she had been expecting.

His grip is like iron. Panicking slightly, she pushes against him now, against his chest while he tries to…

 _Bite me? Is he trying to bite me?_ The realization hits her.

Her screams are joined by Arthur's own screams of rage as he charges forward, startling Lance enough that he loses his grip on Guinevere, who dashes for Arthur, throwing herself at him, clinging to his vest, hiding her face in his shoulder.

"What the…?" Arthur sputters as he looks down at Gwen, his confusion growing by the minute. His left arm unconsciously comes up around her as Lance is slowly advancing on them, his gait slightly unsteady.

"Arthur, they were clearly kissing." Agravaine states accusingly, rather lamely trying to stir the pot.

"Uncle, she was screaming," Arthur argues back, clearly irritated.

"He was trying to bite me!" Gwen says in a terrified whisper, trembling all over. Something compels her and she pulls away from Arthur, yanking the bracelet from her wrist and throwing it to the ground.

Her mind clears as soon as the silver clinks against the stone.

Agravaine stares at the bangle as though he were worried about its well-being. His back is to Lancelot, and before Arthur and Gwen realize what is happening, Lance grabs Agravaine and bites his shoulder, tearing at the flesh with his teeth, piercing easily through his tunic.

Agravaine screams and Gwen screams and hides her face in Arthur's chest, unable to watch.

Arthur quickly but gently turns to Gwen. "Go! Go to my chambers and lock the door," he whispers urgently. "Do not open for anyone but me." He draws his sword and steps toward Lancelot and Agravaine.

She flees the hall, meeting Leon just outside. Other guards are already running to the hall, drawn by the screams.

"Gwen?" he calls.

"Go help Arthur!" she yells back, pointing, still trembling. She dashes away, up the stairs.

The alarm bells are sounding as Gwen slams the door to Arthur's chambers and slides the lock into place. She looks around, and the only word in her brain is _hide._

She scurries over to his bed and sinks down on the floor behind it, on the side furthest from the doors. Then she reaches up and grabs one of the numerous pillows from the bed as a cushion against the cold stones, and, seeing one of his red capes nearby, she grabs this as well and wraps herself in it, a talisman to keep her safe.

xXx

The hall is descending into chaos. Lancelot's movements are slow, but he is unnaturally strong. Agravaine has become forgotten on the floor, left for dead.

Arthur's and the other knights' heads turn at the sound of a scream. One of the guards is shrieking in pain as the still-prone Agravaine bites the guard's Achilles tendon, and the man drops.

"Agravaine!" Arthur shouts in disbelief. _He's become like Lancelot,_ he realizes, also noticing that there are several guards now approaching with that slow, shambling gait and grey complexion.

 _How many men did Lancelot bite before he got here?_ he wonders.

"What devilry is this?" Leon shouts, pushing an infected guard off with his booted foot, slicing his sword through the air, slitting the man's throat. "Sorry, Jacob," he says, turning and running towards his king, standing back to back with Arthur.

"Where is Lancelot?" Arthur's eyes dart around the room, finding no sign of him. The knights are fending off these… _others_ fairly effectively, but there's still no saying how many people Lancelot had gotten to before he bit Agravaine.

 _Guinevere had been his next target,_ Arthur realizes, and it makes his blood run cold.

xXx

Knocking at Arthur's chamber door. "Gwen? Gwen, are you in there?"

Gwen stands. _That sounds like Merlin. I'm not supposed to open the doors. But I can't leave him out there with whatever horrors are going on._ She shakily stands and walks quickly to the doors.

"Merlin?"

"Yes, Gwen, it's me. Let me in, please!"

"You're not going to bite me, are you?" _Why am I asking? Of course he'd say no._

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

She quickly slides the lock, opens the door just enough to allow his slender form, grabs him by the scarf, and yanks him inside. Then she slams the door and locks it again.

"What's going on?" they both ask each other.

"I was hoping you could tell me," Merlin says, seeing her terrified face, her tiny body wrapped in Arthur's massive red cape.

"Lancelot… he's…"

"He's not himself. I know that already. But what has he done? And why did you ask if I was going to bite you?"

"Because he tried to bite me!" she exclaims, sitting heavily in a chair and pulling her feet up onto the seat, hugging her knees.

"He tried to _bite_ you?" Merlin asks, pulling up another chair beside her, trying to make sense of all of this. _That wasn't anywhere in my readings._

"Then he _did_ bite Agravaine," she says, hugging her knees even tighter. "It was horrible."

"Well, Agravaine is Morgana's spy anyway, so it's not really as horrible as you may think," Merlin says offhandedly.

"What?"

"Never mind that now," he waves his hand dismissively. "Did you notice anything odd about Lancelot?"

"You mean apart from the fact that he's going around biting people?"

"Obviously."

"He was very pale. Not pale like how you are always pale, but almost _grey._ And he wasn't speaking. I asked if he was ill and all he said was 'Uh.' It was like he had forgotten how, almost…"

"Anything else?"

"He smelled like rotting meat," she remembers now, wrinkling her nose. "And Merlin… I don't know what it was, but… I had been going there to meet him, to… I think rendezvous with him. I felt compelled, like I wanted to… _kiss_ him. Until he started trying to bite me…"

He frowns. "Did anything else happen today? Earlier?"

"Merlin, why are you asking so many questions?"

"Just _please,_ I'm trying to figure out what's going on!"

"He came to my house. Gave me a gift. A bracelet, one he said would bring me luck."

"Are you still wearing it?" He can't see her hands beneath the cape.

She shakes her head. "I yanked it off and threw it just before he bit Agravaine. I don't know why…" she pauses, thinking. Blinking, trying to sort out her brain. "But I felt… better once it was off. Like a fog I didn't even know was there had been lifted from my brain."

"Hmm. Probably enchanted."

"Lancelot gave me an enchanted bracelet?"

"Gwen, that wasn't Lancelot!"

"You said that before; what do you mean?"

"I… I think Morgana's hand is behind all this. I need to go. I need information. I need to get something that will help Arthur," he starts rambling, and stands.

"Merlin, you can't go out there! Don't you hear the screams?" Gwen stands, leaving the cape draped on the chair.

"Gwen," Merlin steps to her and places both hand on her shoulders. "I am going to tell you three things. I don't have time to explain, but just listen: One, Morgana has somehow brought Lancelot back from the dead, but something has gone very wrong with the spell, I think. Two, I need to go and alert Gaius so he can lock his own doors and start preparing for wounded while I go talk to someone and retrieve the only thing that will help Arthur. And three, _lock this door behind me and do not leave this room._ "

 _What only thing that will help Arthur? What is he talking about?_ Gwen stares, tears of worry pricking at her eyes. "But Merlin, what if you get bitten?"

Merlin hugs her tightly and heads to the door. "Okay, four things," he sighs. "Four, I am actually a very powerful wizard, Gwen. I've been hiding it for years now, obviously, but now is the time for me to take action. As for any Biters out there, they won't even be able to get within arms' reach. I won't allow it." He regards her for a moment, his face more serious than she's ever seen it. He actually looks a little scary, but in a good way. _Because he's on our side._

All Gwen can do is gasp as he sweeps from the room, closing the door behind him. She steps quickly up to lock the door, but as her hand reaches out for it, the lock slides firmly into place on its own, and she jumps.

"Merlin…" she whispers, staring at the lock.

xXx

"Why are you laughing?" Merlin demands as the Great Dragon chuckles down at him, "This isn't funny!"

"Young warlock, the witch's powers are not developed enough to have been able to successfully wield this magic," Kilgarrah says, explaining his amusement. "It was doomed from its inception." He grows serious now. "It is a pity, indeed, that Camelot is being made to pay the price for her ineptitude."

"Yes, well, I need to stop it."

"Yes."

"What _is_ it? What has Lancelot become?"

The dragon sighs, sitting back on his massive haunches. "Morgana has unwittingly called up magic from another ancient religion. A religion from another land. She has created a beast that does not belong here, not in Camelot, not on this earth."

"What is it?"

"It is called the Zombi, a beast of the ancient Vodun religion, practiced far, far to the south, in another land."

"So, Morgana intended to bring back Lancelot as a shade in her thrall, but instead resurrected him as this… zombie thing…"

"That is correct. The witch was warned. Her own arrogance was her downfall."

"I know what I need to help Arthur. You know where I put it?"

"I do," Kilgarrah nods.

"Take me there."

The dragon sighs again, lowering his head.

"Yes, yes, I know, you're not a horse. But you know I have no choice."

"I know," he answers, "and neither do I, as you well know." He waits for Merlin to settle behind his ears and then pushes up from the ground, soaring through the night air.

xXx

The dragon touches down and Merlin climbs hurriedly off, clutching the item in his hands, the thing he vowed to put far away, away from the hands of any man.

"Merlin," Kilgarrah stops him before he can run back to Camelot.

"Yes?"

"Arthur will have to run the false Lancelot through with Excalibur. Only then will this curse be lifted."

"Arthur has to do it?" Merlin asks, figuring he would just wield the sword as he did before, unbeknownst to the king.

"This magic was meant to hurt Arthur, to strike at the very heart of him. Therefore it is he that must break the spell."

"I see," Merlin answers, and suddenly Gwen's confession about her urge to kiss Lancelot and the gifted bracelet all make sense. _Morgana was trying to destroy Arthur through Gwen. Strike at the very heart of him, indeed._

"The zombies are slow, but unnaturally strong. And one bite will turn you into one of them," Kilgarrah warns.

"What will happen to all of… them… once Lancelot is destroyed?"

"Those with only minor injuries will return to themselves, and their injuries will heal in due course. The ones that have been too gravely injured, well…"

"Okay," Merlin says, his face tense.

"Go, young warlock, and take care."

Merlin runs for the castle, blasting anyone bearing the telltale zombie characteristics that come near him.

 _Don't kill them. Just knock them out. They may recover,_ he reminds himself, careful not to put too much force behind his blows.

He finds Arthur just outside the great hall, his eyes searching. "Lancelot! Show yourself!" he yells.

"Arthur!" Merlin calls, running towards the king.

"Merlin, what the hell are you doing? Get out of here before you are bitten!" Arthur turns on his servant, irritated.

"Here," Merlin thrusts Excalibur into Arthur's hands, taking his sword from him. Arthur is so shocked that the exchange is made easily.

"What? Merlin…"

"Just use _this_ sword, Arthur. You have to find Lancelot and run him through with it to lift this curse," Merlin instructs.

"How…?"

"No time," Merlin urges. "Come on, I'll help you find him."

Then, much to Arthur's surprise, Merlin tosses his sword aside.

"Don't you want to hang on to that?"

"Don't need it. Come _on,_ " he urges, stretching his senses out, searching for the source of the magic. Lancelot.

"Merlin, are you drunk? What on earth—"

"Look out!" Merlin shoves Arthur out of the path of an approaching zombie. Arthur turns just in time to see Merlin blast the creature, one of the servants this time, against a far wall where it hits and slumps to the floor.

Arthur's jaw drops. Shock. Disbelief. _Surely this is a nightmare._

"This way," Merlin grabs Arthur by the shoulder and physically hauls him down the corridor, clearing a path for them as they go, not caring who sees him.

xXx

Gwen peeks out the window, wrapped in Arthur's cape again, and looks out over the courtyard at the chaos below.

 _Heloise, no, please, not her… James… is that… no, not Sir Bors._ She sadly identifies people that have turned into whatever it is that Lancelot now is. _Not Lancelot,_ she reminds herself.

The clang of swords reaches her ears along with the screams and the blood-chilling otherworldly moans coming from the Biters' mouths. She closes the window again, locking it, locking it again, and then huddles on Arthur's bed.

The chamber door rattles, and she looks up. "Arthur? Merlin?" she whispers, hopefully. Then she hears scratching. Moaning.

She is about to drop back down to the floor and shove herself under his bed but a brilliant green flash draws her eyes back to the door. The Biters push and pound at the door, but with each blow the green flash lights up around it, starting from the lock and extending outward like a bubble.

 _He's enchanted the doors to protect me,_ she realizes, eyes wide and suddenly pricking with tears, sentimental tears brought forth by her best friend's love for her.

They pound; the door holds. Guinevere pulls the curtains surrounding Arthur's bed and lies down, curled in a tight ball, facing away from the doors, still wrapped in his cape. She closes her eyes, shutting out the world.

xXx

"Merlin…" Arthur attempts to talk to his servant ( _wizard?_ ) as he follows him through the darkened hallways. "Merlin!" he finally yells.

"What?" Merlin yells back. "Don't tell me you're going to waste time yelling at me _now,_ Arthur. Yes, I'm a wizard. Yes, I always have been. _Yes,_ I've been hiding it all these years. And _yes, I have been using my magic to do little other than protect your ungrateful ass since the day I set foot in Camelot, knowing I could be killed for doing so!_ "

"Duck!" Arthur yells now, pushing Merlin's head down to slash at a zombie.

"Don't mortally wound them, Arthur," Merlin says, standing. "Once we get rid of Lancelot, they'll return to themselves. If they're wounded too badly, there is no hope for them."

"How do you know all this?" Arthur asks, following Merlin as he jogs down the corridors again.

"The dragon told me. Now shut up, I need to concentrate."

"What dragon?"

Merlin doesn't answer, just waves his hand, shushing him. Arthur shoves another zombie that has gotten too close.

"This way," Merlin pulls him to the left and up the stairs. _Lancelot's heading for Arthur's chambers. Gwen._

Merlin decides to start putting zombies to sleep instead of knocking them unconscious, extending a hand and hissing _swefn_ at them as he passes. Arthur watches, dumbstruck, confused, overwhelmed, as their familiar yet grey faces slump and their red eyes close as they slide to the floor.

"That's very kind of you, actually," Arthur says. "When will they wake?"

"Probably morning. I'm not entirely sure," he says, reaching the corridor where the royal chambers can be found.

"Probably? You're not a very _good_ wizard, are you?" Arthur eyes him skeptically.

Merlin glances back at him. "You have no idea at all how good I am, Arthur," he answers cryptically. "There. Lancelot is just over there."

"Okay," he says, then pauses. "So why do I have to do this? Can't you just blast him?"

"Arthur, Morgana conjured this magic to hurt you. _You_ are its target. She resurrected Lancelot, albeit somewhat unsuccessfully, and she gave him that bracelet to give to Gwen. Her aim was to get Gwen to betray you with Lancelot, to destroy you emotionally, strike at the place where your heart lies."

"With Guinevere," he says quietly.

"Yes. So that is why you must be the one to undo what she has done. Now go. He's at the doors to your chambers now, but I assure you, Gwen is quite safe."

"What did you do, enchant the doors?" Arthur strides away, calling over his shoulder.

"Yes," Merlin calls back. "They can only be opened by you or me."

"Right." Arthur closes in on Lancelot, stealthy now, until he is close enough to strike.

"Lancelot," he calls, his voice low and level. Lancelot turns. He looks worse. Bits of flesh are starting to peel off. Chunks of hair are falling out. He is missing at least one tooth. An eye is threatening to fall from its socket. The smell has gotten worse.

"Ugh," Arthur cannot help but recoil at the site of one of his former knights, so noble and brave, a man who sacrificed all he had for Camelot, reduced to this. A hunk of rotting meat. It saddens him, angers him that his sister would be so cruel, so low.

"Have peace, my friend," Arthur says sadly, thrusting Excalibur forward, straight into Lancelot's heart. He falls like the puppet that he is, tumbling woodenly to the ground.

Merlin runs forward now, noticing that all the other zombies in the distance have similarly toppled, now all sleeping like the ones he had enchanted. The clanging of swords, the shouts, the screams have all stopped.

Arthur and Merlin kneel over Lancelot's body, no longer grey and decomposing but simply deathly white.

"Thank you," Lancelot whispers, his eyes fluttering. He closes his eyes, and as the other two men watch, the knight's body disappears into a puff of smoke.

Arthur stands. "That was… different," he declares, scratching his head. He looks at the sword. "Can I keep this?"

"Yes, Arthur. This sword is meant to be wielded by you and none other. It was forged in a dragon's breath and is nigh undefeatable. It is called Excalibur and it is yours alone."

He regards Merlin suspiciously for a moment. "Excellent," he says finally, giving it a couple experimental swishes before sheathing it at his side. "This topic of wizardry and dragons is one that _will_ be discussed, Merlin," he warns, "but later. Right now I have more important matters to attend."

Arthur reaches for the door to his chambers and pushes. Locked. "I thought you said I could open it."

"Wait for it," Merlin says.

Arthur is still holding the handle. He feels a slight vibration and then hears the _click_ as the lock slides free.

He gives Merlin a sideways look and pushes the door open. "Guinevere?" he calls softly, looking around.

Arthur's eyes fall on his bed with the curtains drawn tight around. He walks quietly over and peeks between the curtains.

He pulls them aside, smiling as he sees her curled on his bed, wrapped in his cape. She looks so small, so innocent.

"Is she all right?" Merlin asks.

"Shh. She's sleeping. Fetch me a blanket," Arthur says quietly, reaching down to remove her shoes so that she can be more comfortable.

Gwen stirs when her second shoe is removed, scrunching tighter, then stretching. "Arthur?" she asks sleepily, blinking her eyes open.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he says, sitting down on the bed now, pulling her into his arms, wrapping her in his embrace. He lifts her chin to place a kiss on her lips, warm and soft still from slumber. She sinks against him, heaving a relieved sigh. Merlin comes over with the now-useless blanket, and, seeing that Gwen is awake, tosses it on the trunk at the foot of Arthur's bed.

"What happened? Is it over?" she asks, gently pulling out of Arthur's arms. Merlin's face appears and he waves.

"Yep. All taken care of," Arthur says casually, lifting her hand to his lips, as if they were discussing preparations for a feast or some other mundane task.

"You locked me in here, Merlin," she says, glaring up at him now.

"Had to keep you safe or this one would have had my head," Merlin answers, nodding at Arthur. "I know you, Gwen. At some point you would have decided to venture out to try and _help._ "

"Would not," she argues.

"Would so," both men answer. Gwen scowls.

"You can assist Gaius with the wounded," Merlin offers.

"Tomorrow," Arthur amends. "It's very late."

"We're going to have to postpone the wedding, Arthur," Gwen says softly, stroking his cheek. "There's too much chaos now. Too many injured people."

"And the hall is a mess. Those zombies wrecked the decorations," Merlin adds.

"I," Arthur declares, standing, "am postponing nothing. Merlin, go wake Geoffrey."

"What?" Merlin and Gwen both say.

"We are getting married tonight. We'll have a big fancy public ceremony, oh, next week. But I am making Guinevere my wife _tonight,_ " Arthur clarifies, then looks down at Guinevere, her lovely face staring up at him. "That is, if it's all right with you, my love."


	16. Farewell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little missing Arwen scene from 5x01. A little missing scene we'd never get to see anyway on account of me being, well, a total perv. Rated E.

Arthur walks into his inner chamber and sees her standing by the window in her nightdress and dressing gown, looking out into the night. He knows her thoughts are on his mission tomorrow. He walks softly to her and wraps his arms around her, enveloping her with his body.

Even after three years of marriage, he still gets a thrill every time he touches her, feels nothing but unbelievable joy at simply being able to be with her. She says nothing, only sighs, and he dips his face into her neck, kissing her.

"Everything will be fine, I promise," he whispers against her skin, his warm breath a caress. She slides her hands over his arms and reaches back to stroke his hair before gliding her hand down side of his face to his neck.

"Take me to bed, Husband," she answers, answering his whisper with her own. Unquestioningly, he takes her hand and they move toward their bed, the bed in which he has brought her such ecstasy nearly every night since their wedding night.

Nearly every night when he was home, that is.

"I know you worry about me when I go," he says, as always, trying to console her, soothe her fears.

"Of course I do. I love you. I can't help but worry," she answers, allowing him to lay her back on the bed.

"Even though I've been—"

"Trained to kill since birth, yes, yes," she smiles, pulling him down over her, bringing his lips to hers, silencing them both as she immediately parts her lips for him, allowing him entrance.

Arthur reaches down and pulls the tie on her dressing gown, working it open, sliding his hands inside to touch her body through the linen of her nightdress. Gwen makes a contended noise in the back of her throat and releases his head to loosen his belt, opening it and tossing it aside without breaking the kiss. The action is so familiar, one she has done thousands of times (often very hastily), and she no longer needs to see to do it.

He pulls his lips away just long enough to whip his white shirt, her favorite, over his head and drop it to the floor. She takes this opportunity to sit up, peel her opened robe from her shoulders, and scoot it out from under her.

"I like this one," Arthur mutters, always appreciating her nightgowns. This one is his particular favorite because it is sleeveless, low-cut, and somewhat sheer.

"That's why I wore it."

"Aren't you cold?" he asks, as this is one of the gowns she generally wears in the high summer months. He runs his hand up her arm, watching as goosebumps rise on her skin.

"Not at the moment," she answers. "Besides, I don't plan on wearing it for very long."

He raises an eyebrow at her, then jumps in surprise when she swiftly pulls the ties on his trousers.

"Keep me warm, Arthur, and I shall give you a memory with which to keep yourself warm on the cold nights to follow," she whispers, sliding her hands into his trousers, working them down as she caresses his hips and thighs.

He helps her remove his trousers, then prowls back up over her, sliding the hem of her nightdress higher, occasionally dropping kisses on her skin as he goes. Her knees, her thighs. Her hips, her stomach, dipping his tongue into her navel once. Her left breast, then her right. The gown passes over her head and is discarded with the rest, and Arthur kisses her neck, then lips, hungrily, passionately, his hand finding her breast.

"I love you, Arthur," she whispers, moving to nibble his ear, pulling his earlobe gently in between her teeth. He angles his head to kiss her neck, groaning softly.

"I love you," he mumbles into her skin, kissing a molten line down her neck to her breasts, capturing a dark nipple with his lips, flicking his tongue over it.

Gwen runs her hands into his hair, making his scalp tingle under her fingertips. She moves her leg to slide against him, winding it around his leg, the slender smooth limb enticing him, drawing him closer.

She reaches down between them, her hand seeking him out, grasping his length. He gently bites her nipple in response, drawing a gasp from her.

Gwen slides her hand on him, maneuvering him close to touch herself with the tip, sliding it along her folds, slippery and hot.

Arthur groans, moving to her other breast, and he presses his hips forward slightly, just hovering at her entrance for a few moments before pushing inside just a tiny bit.

"You're teasing me," she gasps, releasing his member to grip his shoulders, pulling him, nearly begging.

He kisses his way back to her lips, kissing them deeply, still moving no further. "I know," he says, and he slides back a little.

Gwen is just about to protest when he plunges forward, delving fully into her, completely sheathing himself within her as he drops his head into the soft curve of her neck.

Arthur doesn't move; he just stays there, joined with his wife, his soulmate, basking in her love, her goodness, her wisdom.

Slowly he begins to move, long, languid strokes, moving fluidly over her.

"Yes, Arthur," she sighs, arching underneath him, her hands caressing his chest, her head tossing to the side.

He adjusts his position, bracing himself on one hand, reaching down with the other to hold her firm thigh. Occasionally he lowers himself to kiss her lips, her forehead, her neck, wherever his lips happen to land.

Gwen's hands travel, finding his backside, gripping it, pushing it, urging him faster, harder.

"More…" she gasps, but he is already complying before the word is out. She hooks her leg around his waist now, and he releases his grasp on it and moves his hand to her breast instead.

He grunts once, then kisses her again, thrusting his hungry tongue into her mouth, almost mimicking his actions below with it, and she sucks greedily at it with her own as if she cannot get enough of him.

She whimpers, and he can feel her body quivering beneath him, close, so close, and he thrusts hard and deep, over and over, bringing her over the edge with him.

"Oh!" she tears her lips from his and cries out, digging her nails into his shoulders, her small body jerking beneath him just as he growls and drives deep, releasing into her, his arms giving out.

He collapses over her, his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily, his torso sliding on hers, slick with the sweat built between them.

They lay together, intertwined, waiting for their heartbeats to return to normal, waiting for the delicious pulsing sensations below to subside.

Waiting to see if they will suddenly wake up to find that Gwaine and Percival and the others are no longer missing and Arthur doesn't have to leave at first light because this has all been just a nightmare.

Arthur finally lifts his head to kiss her, moving as little as possible, wishing to stay joined with her as long as he possibly can, relishing this closeness.

"Guinevere," he whispers against her lips, "do you know why I always return safely home?"

"Because you are a mighty warrior?"

"Because _you_ are waiting for me here."


End file.
